UNQUENCHED    FIRE 


UNQUENCHED  FIRE 


A  NOVEL 


BY 


ALICE    GERSTENBERG 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD   AND    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  191* 
BY  SMALL,  MAYNARD  AND  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


To  MY  MOTHER 

IN    APPRECIATION    OF    HER    NOBILITY    OF    HEART, 

MIND    AND    SOUL 

LOVINGLY    AND    REVERENTLY 

DEDICATED 


CONTENTS 

PART  ONE 

PAGE 
THE  VALLEY  OF  INDECISION i 

PART  TWO 
THE  SLOUGH  OF  DESPOND  .    • 121 

PART  THREE 
THE  ROAD  TO  ROME 265 


PART   ONE 
THE   VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

CHAPTER   I 

"  He  has  neither  money  nor  position,"  said 
Mrs.  Van  Mueller  with  the  faintest  shrug  of 
her  still  beautiful  shoulders.  "  He  is  merely 
clever." 

Jane  Carrington  stopped  pulling  her  rose  to 
pieces  and  flashed  a  quick  look  of  interest  at 
her  hostess. 

" '  Gay  Gordon  came  riding  fair  Janie  to 
see  '  ?  "  she  asked  lightly.  "  Well,  if  he  's  clever 
enough  not  to  coo,  let 's  have  him.  I  've  heard 
I  'm  beautiful  till  I  feel  like  giving  the  next 
complimenter  both  point  and  edge  of  the 
Prince's  poniard.  You  see,  I  still  have  the 
property  dagger.  Look  at  them,"  she  added, 
humorously  indicating  the  laughing  group  of 
admirers  about  her.  "  Every  one  of  them  tells 

3 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

me  I  was  simply  stunning  in  that  brown  suit, 
and  not  one  has  the  moral  courage  to  say 
whether  I  acted  the  part  of  the  Prince  with 
any  semblance  of  humanity  or  whether  I  was 
a  perfect  stick.  They  don't  know  in  what 
danger  they  Ve  been  for  the  last  five  minutes." 
"  Most  of  us  are  glad  to  be  told  that  we  are 
beautiful,  my  dear/'  said  Mrs.  Van  Mueller. 
"  However,  I  shall  warn  Mr.  Gordon  to  shuffle 
his  adjectives  before  he  is  introduced,"  and 
with  that  she  moved  away,  a  stately,  white- 
haired  figure  among  the  chattering  throng. 

"  It  has  taken  me  some  time  to  reach  you, 
Jane,"  said  an  easy  voice  at  her  elbow.  "  I 
must  add  my  congratulations." 

"  You,  too,  Brutus  ?  "  replied  Jane  with  a 
slight  start,  for  which  she  mentally  took  her- 
self to  task.    "  I  did  n't  know  you  were  here." 
"  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  made  me  buy  a  ticket.'* 
"  Ah,  that  fine  sense  of  charity !  " 
"  Yes,"  —  carelessly  —  "  I  am  extremely  in- 
terested in  —  all  forms  of  philanthropy." 

4 


THE   VALLEY   OF    INDECISION 

Jane  smiled  wickedly,  glancing  over  the  bevy 
of  white  debutantes  behind  Walter  Scribner, 
and  then  letting  her  eyes  rest  on  the  amateur 
stage  at  the  far  end  of  the  mirrored  ballroom. 
The  green  curtains  had  stuck,  as  amateur  cur- 
tains usually  do,  and  were  still  parted,  reveal- 
ing the  tiny  set,  the  tottering  wings  and  the 
scattered  petals  from  the  girls'  bouquets.  As 
she  looked  the  smile  faded,  and  her  eyes  dark- 
ened with  some  powerful  emotion. 

"What  is  it,  Jane?"  Walter  Scribner's 
voice  was  low,  shrewdly  sympathetic,  and  his 
eyes  were  full  of  a  curious  interest  as  he 
watched  Jane's  averted  face.  Evidently  there 
were  unplumbed  possibilities  there. 

Suddenly  she  turned,  facing  him  defiantly, 
her  little  hands  doubled  into  white  kid  fists,  her 
satined  foot  patting  the  floor. 

"  It  would  shock  all  these  good  friends  of 
mine  to  death  if  I  should  jump  up  and  down 
and  shriek,  would  n't  it?  "  she  demanded.  "  If 
I  ripped  up  a  few  of  these  nice  sugared  con- 

5 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

ventions  and  cut  through  the  pretty-pretty  ad- 
jectives and  got  down  to  an  honest,  straight- 
f  rom-the-shoulder  opinion  ?  Or  have  n't  these 
friends  an  opinion:  are  their  minds  all  me- 
ringue? Is  there  no  one  with  courage  enough 
to  tell  me  whether  I  'm  bad  or  good  in  my  part, 
and  why  ?  I  slave  for  weeks  learning  it,  think- 
ing it  out,  rehearsing  it,  and  to-night  when  I 
play  it  they  call  me  —  pretty !  " 

Scribner  laughed  at  the  small  tempest  — 
Jane  was  so  emotional  —  and  patted  her  arm 
consolingly. 

"  You  look  wonderful  when  you  storm, 
Jane,"  he  said  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 
"  Of  course  being  beautiful  is  awfully  hard  on 
you,  but  really,  you  know,  you  ought  to  bear 
up.  We  enjoy  it,  even  if  you  don't." 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  ears  and  turned 
to  escape,  but  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  blocked  her 
way. 

"  Jane,  this  is  Mr.  Gordon." 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do,"  she  answered  fever- 
6 


THE   VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 

ishly,  placing  a  hot,  trembling  hand  in  his  cool 
palm. 

"  I  do  very  well  to  gain  an  audience  with  so 
subtle  an  actress,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped,  "Oh!"  and  was  lost 
in  confusion. 

Wondering  somewhat  at  her  embarrassment, 
Bryce  Gordon  took  the  conversation  into  his 
own  hands,  and  gave  her  opportunity  to  re- 
cover. He  had  a  quiet,  reserved  way  about 
him  that  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the  tired 
look  in  his  eyes.  The  weary  lines  in  his  face, 
his  shabby  clothes,  his  lax  attitude,  spoke  of 
poverty  and  failure. 

;<  You  were  the  only  intelligent  player  in  the 
cast,"  he  continued  evenly.  "  Some  of  the 
others  have  pleasing  personalities,  but  they 
were  taught  how  to  interpret  their  lines.  Your 
work  not  only  showed  original  thought,  but 
was  spontaneous,  too.  The  pity  was  that  —  " 

:'  Was  what  ?  Tell  me,"  exclaimed  Jane 
quickly,  as  he  paused. 

7 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Well,  you  lost  force  in  your  climax  because 
you  expended  too  much  emotion  at  the  opening 
of  the  play.  That  is  n't  so  much  a  fault  of 
technique  as  it  is  inexperience." 

"  Mr.  Gordon's  opinion  is  to  be  valued,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Van  Mueller  kindly.  "  He  is  a 
writer." 

"  A  writer !  "  Jane's  eyes  dilated.  Writers 
were  not  a  part  of  her  world.  "  Oh,  don't  stop 
—  go  on !  " 

Her  eagerness  drew  Gordon  to  her,  exclud- 
ing the  older  woman,  who  drew  in  her  thin 
lips  coldly  as  she  moved  away.  Mrs.  Van 
Mueller  was  not  anxious  to  encourage  one  of 
her  daughter's  friends  into  an  intimacy  below 
her  social  level,  and,  after  all,  this  man  was 
only  a  scribbler.  Jane,  on  the  contrary,  was 
fascinated  by  the  new  type,  so  different  from 
the  men  she  knew,  and  more  than  delighted 
to  know  him  better. 

'  Tell  me  about  your  work,"  she  pleaded, 
with  naive  admiration  in  her  eyes.  "  I  know 

8 


THE    VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

so  little  about  your  world.  What  have  you 
written?" 

"  Essays  on  English  poets  and  a  few  maga- 
zine stories  are  the  only  stuff  of  mine  in  print/' 
replied  Gordon  with  a  smile  at  her  enthusiasm. 
"Literature  is  only  jam,  you  know;  bread  and 
butter  is  won  by  very  different  labor." 

"  Don't  waste  time  on  literature,  then,"  she 
said  frivolously ;  "  write  trash  —  that 's  what 
sells,  isn't  it?" 

"  The  only  difficulty  is  that  I  still  have  a  con- 
science," he  laughed.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  could  n't 
do  the  society  novel,  any  more  than  I  could 
screw  myself  to  the  '  Bang  !-Bang  !-and-two- 
more-redskins-bit-the-dust ! '  style  of  romance. 
That  sort  of  thing  is  a  trade,  just  as  much  as 
blacksmithing,  and  rather  than  apprentice  my- 
self there  I  'd  —  raise  rutabagas  for  a  living." 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  either ! "  said  Jane  with 
sudden  wistfulness.  "  Yes,  either,  so  long  as 
it  was  honest.  This,"  and  she  waved  an  ex- 
pressive hand  around  the  crowded  ballroom, 

9 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  is  such  an  everlasting  lie.  I  must  disguise 
my  hand,  finesse  it  as  if  I  were  playing  bridge, 
and  some  day  when  some  poor  wretch  is  n't 
looking  snare  him  into  matrimony.  Are  n't 
rutabagas  better  than  that?" 

'  You  'd  tire  of  them.  Even  the  Chosen 
People  could  n't  stand  manna  forever  and 
yearned  for  quail  on  toast." 

"Would  I?" 

Her  tone  was  deep  and  vibrant,  her  fringed 
dark  eyes  with  a  flash  in  them  turned  full  on 
his.  Gordon  was  unaccountably  thrilled.  Vi- 
vacious, responsive,  spontaneous,  she  seemed 
to  give  so  much  of  herself,  and  yet,  after  all, 
gave  so  little.  Eager  to  solve  the  problem  of 
her  nature,  he  made  the  mistake  of  using  oratio 
directa. 

'''  What  are  you  ?  "  he  asked,  leaning  for- 
ward, frankly  searching  her.  But  the  flash 
faded,  and  only  tantalizing  laughter  remained 
as  he  gazed. 

"  Ah,  that 's  telling !  .  .  .  I  'm  sure  you  Ve 
10 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

written  other  things.  What  are  you  at 
now?" 

He  saw  that  he  had  frightened  the  butterfly 
and  that  for  a  time  there  would  be  no  more 
confidences. 

"  If  you  insist,  I  confess  to  a  play." 

"  Oh ! "  Again  her  eyes  filled  with  warm 
shadows.  "  What  about?  " 

"  The  inevitability  of  fate." 

"You  believe  in  that?" 

"  Look  for  yourself,"  he  answered  with  a 
smile.  "  Of  course  you  're  a  princess  in  Egypt 
now,  but  I  warn  you  it 's  the  same  in  the  wil- 
derness. Can't  you  see  it  plainly  here?" 

"  I  do,  and  it  nearly  makes  me  a  predestinated, 
foreordinated  and  damned  Methodist.  I  had 
hoped  you  had  some  more  appetizing  solution." 

"  Appetizing !  "    Gordon  made  a  wry  face. 

"  No !  "  disclaimed  Jane  swiftly.  "  Don't 
you  dare  to  convince  me  of  the  nauseousness  of 
the  dose.  I  won't  believe  it  —  yet.  Surely  if 

one  has  ability,  courage  and  patience,  circum- 

ii 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

stances  can't  always  hold  the  whip  over  one's 
back.  There  must  be  a  chance  somewhere." 

"  Does  acting  mean  so  much  to  you  ? " 
Gordon  was  beginning  to  understand  her,  and 
she  knew  it  was  useless  to  challenge  him.  She 
answered  simply: 

"  I  'm  going  to  be  an  actress  some  day." 

"  Don't." 

"Why?" 

"  Acting,  like  playwriting,  is  lowering 
buckets  into  empty  wells  and  drawing  noth- 
ing up." 

"  I  thought  you  'd  encourage,  instead  of 
being  a  wet  blanket." 

"  Perhaps  I  Ve  seen  too  much  of  the  life. 
Remember  the  children  of  Israel  and  the  flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt." 

Her  eyes  lost  some  of  their  light  of  interest. 
Gordon  felt  her  drawing  away  from  him,  felt 
her  growing  again  less  magnetic,  more  com- 
plex, exasperatingly  interesting. 

"  Do  you  care  so  much  about  it?  " 
12 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

But  he  had  forfeited  her  confidence  again, 
and  she  laughed  irrelevantly. 

"  Merely  a  girl's  vanity,"  she  said,  turning 
lightly  away.  And  that  was  all.  A  moment 
later  Bryce  Gordon  was  walking  down  the  steps 
of  the  brilliant  house  into  the  frosty  night,  and 
Jane  Carrington  was  again  holding  court  in 
the  ballroom. 

"Hello,  Jane!" 

"  How  do  you  do,  Harry."  She  was  polite 
rather  than  cordial  —  the  boy  was  one  of  an 
unimportant  dozen  always  at  her  heels. 

"  I  Ve  been  dodging  trains  for  hours  trying 
to  reach  you.  Say,  you  were  ripping  to-night 
—  corking." 

"  Really,  did  you  like  it  ?  "  Was  it  possible 
that  Harry  had  seen  what  she  meant  to  convey 
in  her  part?  Her  voice  softened  as  she  spoke 
and  his  eyes  lit  up  with  the  glad  look  of  a 
praised  puppy. 

"  Sure.  Where  'd  you  get  that  swell  cap  and 
quill,  and  the  velvet  doublet?'1 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Oh ! "  sighed  Jane,  "  I  had  the  costume 
made." 

"  There  was  enough  gold  on  it  to  run  the 
mint  for  a  week.  You  're  the  most  extrava- 
gant girl  in  the  bunch." 

"I?" 

:<  Well,  I  know  a  fellow  who  does  n't  dare 
send  you  flowers  for  less  than  five,  because  all 
the  rest  are  spending  more." 

"  I  value  one  rose  of  good  will  more  than 
the  biggest  dozen  of  American  Beauties  ever 
sent  by  convention  —  tell  the  fellow  I  would 
wear  the  rose." 

The  boy  looked  at  her  curiously,  and  sud- 
denly Jane  realized  that  he  was  no  longer  a 
boy.  She  cast  about  for  a  light  remark  to 
break  the  tension,  but  for  once  her  wits  did 
not  respond  swiftly  enough,  and  Harry  spoke 
in  an  odd,  husky  voice. 

"  If  —  if  you  feel  that  way  about  the 
flowers,"  he  stammered,  "  do  you  think  you 
could  —  get  along  with  less  clothes,  too  ?  " 

14 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

It  was  quite  time  to  call  a  halt  to  this  sort 
of  thing,  and  Jane  smiled  gayly  at  him. 

"  Hardly  in  the  same  proportion,"  she 
flashed,  and  left  him  blushing — a  boy  still. 

The  next  morning  when  one  full-blown 
American  Beauty  arrived  with  his  card  in  the 
box,  she  marked  the  card  "  dangerous  "  and 
slipped  it  into  the  innocent  looking  pigeon-hole 
of  the  desk  that  held  her  heart's  ledger. 

Jane's  ledger  was  a  sadly  matter-of-fact 
affair,  well-filled  with  a  neat  list  of  devotees 
labeled  with  assorted  adjectives.  Convales- 
cents were  there,  along  with  the  cured,  the 
hopeless,  the  sentimental  or  platonic;  and  one 
card  at  which  she  sometimes  looked  soberly, 
inscribed  "  beyond  control." 

Walter  Scribner's  card  she  reflected  over, 
and  finally  marked  it  "  difficult."  Their  con- 
versation in  the  alcove  of  the  dining-room  over 
the  midnight  supper  after  the  play  had  ended 
unsatisfactorily. 

That  very  day  Town  Chat  had  had  a  sting- 
15 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

ing  paragraph  about  them,  and  Jane  had  coolly 
taken  the  clipping  out  of  her  enameled  vanity 
case  for  Scribner's  benefit.  He  put  aside  his 
salad  plate  to  take  the  slip  from  her  hands. 

"  Jane  Carrington's  hanker  for  the  spot-light  has 
caused  her  to  train  her  horse  for  fake  mishaps.  She 
was  thrown  one  morning  in  the  park  just  as  Walter 
Scribner  rode  by.  Now  it  was  Scribie's  first  ride 
since  his  return  to  the  Windy  City,  and  not  aware 
that  acrobatic  Jane  was  playing  possum,  he  gallantly 
rushed  to  the  rescue  and  held  her  fainting  in  his 
arms.  Is  she  trying  to  capture  Walter  ?  This  is  her 
third  season,  you  know,  and  Scribie  passed  her  up 
at  the  close  of  her  first  for  the  next  batch  of  debu- 
tantes. He  has  been  at  that  kind  of  wooing  for 
some  twenty  years.  Try  somebody  else,  Jane;  not 
even  fainting  damsels  can  angle  Scribie." 

The  paragraph  was  cruelly  wrong,  of  course. 
Her  horse  had  shied  at  a  wheelbarrow  in  the 
park  and  had  thrown  her  because  she  had  been 
careless  with  the  length  of  her  stirrup.  A  new 
stable-boy  had  buckled  it  wrong  and  she  had 
been  in  too  great  a  hurry  and  too  confident  of 
her  horsewomanship  to  have  it  corrected.  She 

16 


THE   VALLEY    OF   INDECISION 

had  known  how  to  fall  without  much  danger, 
and  was  quite  calm  when  Scribner  had  reached 
her  —  had  laughed  away  his  solicitude,  a  bit 
glad  of  the  opportunity  to  show  him  how  cool 
she  could  be.  Only  in  one  thing  was  it  right 
—  she  was  piqued  by  the  way  he  had  stopped 
his  attentions.  In  love  with  him?  Not  for  a 
minute.  But  he  was  a  beau  of  forty  who  each 
year  chose  one  of  the  prettiest  debutantes, 
brought  a  flirtation  to  a  serious  point  and  then 
suddenly  left  for  a  southern  or  western  trip 
on  account  of  his  health.  When  the  sky  cleared 
he  was  free  to  play  the  game  with  another 
little  fool.  Jane  blushed  still  when  she  wak- 
ened at  night  and  remembered  that  three  years 
ago  she  had  been  the  fool.  Now  she  wanted 
to  make  him  pay. 

Walter  read  the  clipping  through  with  un- 
ruffled attention  and  then,  tearing  it  into  bits, 
commented : 

"  Some  man  deserves  a  thrashing  for 
that." 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Jane  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Some  are  born  to  lie,  some  achieve  lying 
and  some  have  lies  thrust  upon  them,  you 
know,"  he  went  on,  resuming  his  salad.  "  Shall 
I  go  around  and  kill  the  editor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  I  don't  demand  such  sacrifices. 
People  are  apt  to  be  so  bloody  when  they  are 
killed,  and  you  might  have  to  send  your  coat 
to  the  cleaner's." 

"  Don't  let  that  deter  you.  Any  sacrifice  for 
your  sake  —  "  He  left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

Jane  struck  openly. 

"  But  the  reference  to  you  and  the  debu- 
tantes is  quite  true.  Leslie  is  not  going  to  the 
theater  with  you." 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  Walter  silently 
resented  her  thrust,  and  as  silently  decided  to 
accept  it. 

"  Your  charming  debutante  sister,"  he  an- 
swered suavely,  "  has  already  promised  to  let 
me  take  her." 

"  So  she  told  me.    That  is  why." 
18 


THE   VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  I  stood  so  low  in 
your  esteem." 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  recall  the  similar  invita- 
tion I  accepted  three  years  ago." 

"  Then  you  have  n't  forgotten  that  we  saw 
a  great  deal  of  each  other  your  first  season?  " 

Jane  winced.  She  was  no  match  for  Scrib- 
ner  at  this  game,  and  she  ate  her  salad  in 
silence.  Blandly  he  resumed: 

"  Suppose  we  renew  our  old  —  friendship." 
The  pause  was  a  delicate  triumph  of  artistry. 

"  I  'm  too  busy  "  —  this  over  an  averted 
shoulder. 

"  Take  Leslie's  place  and  come  with  me." 

"  I  am  not  so  desperate  for  invitations." 

"  Very  well  —  then  I  shall  take  your  sister." 

"  She  will  telephone  you  she  is  not  well 
enough  to  go." 

"  Then  I  shall  call  to  inquire  after  her  health 
and  bore  you  for  the  rest  of  the  evening." 

"  I  shall  be  out." 

"  Then  I  shall  call  again." 
19 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Jane  turned  laughing  eyes  to  him. 

"Tis!  .  .  .  'T ain't! "she mocked.  "Really, 
Walter,  if  I  were  not  personally  indifferent  I 
could  not  discuss  this  matter  with  you  so  boldly. 
Leslie  is  very  young  and  your  flattery  is  not 
too  wholesome.  Please  discontinue  your  at- 
tentions to  her." 

She  was  rising  to  go,  the  matter  quite  set- 
tled, when  Leslie,  a  dark-eyed  slip  of  a  girl, 
came  lightly  towards  their  corner. 

"  Father  and  mother  are  waiting  to  take  us 
home,"  she  announced ;  "  unless  Scribie  here 
wants  to  get  a  taxi  for  us  later." 

"  We  are  going  at  once,"  replied  Jane  with 
all  the  authority  of  an  elder  sister.  "  Come, 
dear." 

Scribner  remained  where  they  left  him,  slip- 
ping his  watch-charm  between  his  immaculate 
fingers.  Decidedly,  Jane  would  be  worth  con- 
quering. She  was  positively  handsome  at 
times. 

In  the  big  tonneau  Jane's  admiring  family 
20 


THE   VALLEY    OF   INDECISION 

were  rehearsing  for  her  a  string  of  carefully 
treasured  compliments.  It  was  Jane's  hour  of 
triumph,  for,  after  all,  the  genuine  admiration 
of  your  own  is  dearer  than  that  of  the  rest 
of  the  world. 

"  I  am  very  happy,"  said  Mrs.  Carrington, 
drawing  her  ermine  coat  about  her  as  the 
chauffeur  opened  the  car  door  before  their 
gray  stone  house,  standing  ghost-like  at  day- 
break on  the  lake-front.  '  You  are  making  all 
the  success  I  had  hoped  for;  is  n't  she,  John?  " 

"  You  had  'em  all  guessing,"  confirmed  Mr. 
Carrington,  giving  a  fatherly  pull  to  a  tempt- 
ing long  curl  on  Jane's  neck. 

"  Goodness,  daddy,"  she  said  with  a  respond- 
ing pat  on  his  cheek,  "  you  should  n't  be  so 
careless.  For  anything  you  knew  to  the  con- 
trary that  curl  might  have  come  off  in  your 
fingers.  What  would  you  have  done  then?" 

"  Off !  "  he  echoed  with  mock  dismay.  (<  Do 
you  young  things  lay  pitfalls  like  that  for  your 
trusting  dads?  I  should  never  have  had  faith 

21 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

in  you  again."  He  laughed,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Carrington.  "  Mother,  do  you  remember  when 
I  first  found  out  you  crimped  your  bangs  ?  '' 

She  made  a  little  gesture  of  irritation. 

"  Really,  I  do  not,"  she  answered ;  "  and, 
John,  I  wish  you  would  remember  not  to 
call  me  '  mother.'  It  always  reminds  me  of 
cabbage." 

Mr.  Carrington  said  nothing,  but  pulled  out 
his  keys  and  opened  the  heavy  door.  Silence, 
he  had  learned,  was  often  his  best  weapon  at 
home. 

"  You  did  very  well  with  Mr.  Scribner  to- 
night," went  on  Mrs.  Carrington,  once  inside 
the  house.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  renewing 
your  acquaintance  there." 

"Why?"     Jane  bristled  instantly. 

"  He  has  money  and  social  position  —  " 

"  And  is  a  good  catch !  "  finished  Jane  acidly. 
"  The  inevitable  stalk,  I  suppose." 

"  Tut,  tut,  girls ! "  remonstrated  Mr.  Car- 
rington. "  Run  along  to  bed  and  don't  hurry 

22 


THE   VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 

Jane  in  making  up  her  mind,  my  dear.  She  's 
pretty  enough  yet." 

Jane  walked  slowly  up  the  stairs,  all  her 
gayety  suddenly  vanished.  Was  Walter  Scrib- 
ner,  after  all,  her  only  goal?  What  did  the 
dawn  of  day  mean,  now  that  the  play  was 
over?  What  else  was  there  to  plan  for  and 
live  for,  now  that  the  play  was  over? 

Soft,  kitteny  little  Leslie  cuddled  down  under 
the  silken  covers  of  her  sister's  bed,  and  snug- 
gled up  in  Jane's  protecting  arm. 

"  Scribie  asked  me  something  about  you," 
she  confessed.  "He  wanted  to  know  if  you 
had  ever  been  in  love.  I  said  I  knew  you  had 
liked  people  but  I  did  n't  think  you  'd  ever  had 
a  grand  passion.  Was  that  right?  " 

Jane  laughed.  "  You  funny  little  puss ! 
Well,  it  will  do,  though  it  is  never  wise  to 
know  as  much  as  that,  openly." 

"  Have  you?  " 

"Have  I  what?" 

"Been  in  love?" 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Silly !  No.  Don't  believe  I  ever  will.  I 
want  too  much  of  people,  and  then  when  they 
don't  live  up  to  it,  I  'm  disappointed.  Your 
sister  is  getting  too  old  and  wise." 

Leslie  pinched  Jane's  cheek  affectionately. 

"  Well,  when  he  finds  you  —  the  right  man, 
I  mean  —  he  '11  have  a  dandy.  I  wonder  where 
he  is  now?" 

Jane  tried  to  go  to  sleep,  but  the  careless 
words  rang  in  her  ears  and  she,  too,  wondered 
where  the  man  she  could  really  love  might  be, 
and  whether  he  might  dimly  be  thinking  of 
her. 


24 


CHAPTER   II 

When  the  ladies  of  spur-and-shield  days 
grew  weary  of  court  they  could  retire  for  a 
season  to  a  nunnery  to  drink  milk  and  recover 
their  digestions;  but  in  Chicago  there  was  no 
such  respite.  The  city  was  hurry-mad:  its 
men  chained  to  desk  and  telephone,  its  women 
perpetually  rushed  to  the  verge  of  nervous 
prostration.  The  very  air  seemed  tense,  the 
breathless  streets  impatient  of  the  uplifted  hand 
of  the  crossing-policemen.  He  who  marched 
with  that  procession  must  keep  up  or  be 
crushed.  Once  down,  the  crowd  swept  over 
the  place  where  one  had  been  without  even  the 
formality  of  scattering  sawdust. 

Jane  had  elected  to  march,  and  march  she 
did,  her  handsome  head  held  high.  If  she 
brooded  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room  oc- 
casionally, no  one  was  the  wiser;  if  she 

25 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

wrenched  at  the  bars  of  her  spirit,  she  did  it 
decently  in  private.  Outwardly  she  was  the 
same  gay  Jane,  seen  everywhere,  bizarre  as 
ever,  keeping  a  shrewdly  protecting  eye  on  her 
younger  sister  and  handling  Walter  Scribner 
as  an  angler  argues  with  a  wary  old  trout. 

To-day  Mrs.  Van  Mueller's  doors  were  open 
again,  and  the  familiar  horde  of  five  o'clock  . 
fashionables  were  crowding  her  brilliant  re- 
ception rooms.  Every  one  was  there  —  the 
Van  Mueller  house,  on  the  lower  Lake  Shore 
Drive,  was  too  valuable  a  picture-frame  to  be 
missed.  Those  with  social  positions  to  keep, 
equally  with  the  climbers  who  counted  the  in- 
vitation a  victory,  chattered  and  drank  tea 
and  showed  their  gowns.  Here  was  the  round, 
fat  collector  of  antique  china,  cozy  as  her  be- 
loved teapots;  there  the  grande  dame  who 
modeled  her  methods  on  Madame  de  Stae'l,  and 
knew  her  court  history  as  a  chemist  knows  re- 
agents. Here  chatted,  in  a  my-dearing  group, 
a  simple,  virtuous,  lovable  house-mother  who 

26 


THE    VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

could  not  invent  an  indiscretion  if  she  should 
try,  a  two-tongued  serpent  of  a  woman  with 
venom  dripping  from  every  honeyed  word,  and 
a  high-bred  aristocrat,  as  coldly  brilliant  as 
her  jewels.  There  was  the  pretty  girl  posing 
for  her  prettiness;  the  bizarre,  homely  girl 
dressing  to  accentuate  her  homeliness ;  the  of- 
f  ficious  woman,  the  unassuming,  the  coura- 
geous, the  modest,  the  bold,  the  serious,  the 
frivolous,  the  highly  mental,  the  vividly  phys- 
ical —  all  rubbing  elbows,  jamming  hats,  catch- 
ing feathers,  stepping  on  trains,  dropping 
handkerchiefs,  raising  their  voices  to  a  shriek 
to  be  heard  above  the  ceaseless  chatter  —  there, 
in  short,  was  the  society  that  Jane  so  hated 
and  of  which  she  was  an  integral  part. 

Leslie  Carrington,  intrenched  behind  the 
chocolate  urn,  flushed  with  heat  and  exertion, 
—  for  the  guests  were  seeking  what  they  could 
devour,  —  tore  off  a  white  kid  glove,  stained 
from  the  dripping  spout,  and  looked  around 

for  relief.    She  had  been  at  her  post  for  over 

27 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

an  hour  and  it  was  hard  work.  One  of  the 
women  glanced  at  her  appraisingly. 

"  Who  is  that  pretty  girl  ?  "  she  asked  her 
neighbor,  and  the  neighbor's  reply  held  a  tinge 
of  scorn. 

"  Don't  you  know  Leslie  Carrington  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  You  must  have  read  about  her  debut. 
Every  one  was  there.  I  got  out  of  a  sick  bed 
to  go." 

'  Jane  Carrington's  young  sister  ?  I  know 
Jane,  of  course.  I  've  been  on  two  bazaar 
committees  with  her,  and  been  run  into  the 
ground  with  her  high-handed  ways.  Leslie 
looks  like  her  without  being  so  stunning." 

"  She  is  n't  the  kind  to  make  the  hit  Jane 
did  when  she  came  out  three  years  ago." 

"  There  she  is  now.  My  dear,  will  you  look 
at  her  clothes !  " 

Jane  was  skillfully  managing  a  direct  route 
to  the  chocolate  urn,  and  several  tongues  did 
not  hesitate  to  comment  upon  her  black  tailor 
suit,  fashionable  in  cut,  but  very  evidently  de- 

28 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

signed  for  morning  wear.    Leslie  gasped  when 
she  saw  it. 

"My  goodness,  Jane!  How  could  you  dare 
to  come  dressed  like  that  ?  " 

"  Listen  to  our  little  debutante,"  laughed 
Jane.  "  Of  course  I  have  dared,  Leslie,  be- 
cause I  have  taken  in  a  lecture,  a  study  class, 
an  informal  luncheon,  a  music  lesson,  two  meet- 
ings and  a  studio  tea  on  my  way  here;  and 
have  just  arrived  like  a  rescuing  angel  in  time 
to  take  you  from  this  table.  Put  some  powder 
on  your  nose." 

She  slipped  her  gold  chatelaine  into  her  sis- 
ter's lap  and  then  went  to  find  another 
debutante. 

"  Hester  Pope !  Are  n't  you  pretty  to-day 
in  that  peach  color!  Come  along;  be  a  dar- 
ling and  relieve  Leslie  of  that  inevitable  choco- 
late. The  child  is  wilting." 

"  Gladly,  Miss  Carrington,"  answered  Hes- 
ter, quite  willing  to  return  favor  for  compli- 
ment, and  Leslie  was  freed  from  bondage. 

29 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

That  duty  performed,  Jane  secured  an  olive 
sandwich  and  a  cup  of  black  coffee  and  settled 
down  in  a  conveniently  conspicuous  window- 
seat  to  enjoy  it.  Meantime  Leslie  drifted 
away  and  was  presently  found  by  Walter 
Scribner. 

"  Oh,  Scribie ! "  she  begged,  "  do  get  me 
something  nice  and  naughty  —  I  'm  so  hungry 
and  so  tired !  —  some  punch,  and  if  there  's 
any  salad  left  I  want  a  whole  big  plateful." 

'  With  pleasure,  Miss  Leslie,  if  you  will 
agree  to  make  my  peace  with  your  sister." 

"With  Jane?  Why?-  Oh,  I  know.  She 
does  n't  think  you  're  good  for  me.  Maybe 
that 's  why  I  like  you ;  but  if  you  don't  feed 
me  I  shall  pretend  I  'm  a  lion  in  Lincoln  Park 
and  roar  and  not  like  you  at  all." 

"  That  would  be  a  calamity  indeed,"  he 
smiled,  and  presently  reappeared,  laden. 

They  were  comfortably  aside  from  the  rest, 
in  a  sort  of  little  back-water  provided  by  an 
alcove,  a  tall  Chinese  lamp  and  a  sweeping 

30 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

fern.  In  comparison  with  the  rest  of  the  sti- 
fling, crowded  rooms  it  gave  them  a  sense  of 
seclusion  of  which  Scribner  began  to  take  dis- 
creet advantage. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  since  the  night  of 
the  amateur  play  that  Jane,  rather  than  Leslie, 
was  his  game.  Pretty  and  kitteny  as  the  little 
girl  was,  she  would  never  have  the  keen  mind 
of  her  older  sister;  the  skill  in  carrying  off 
honors,  the  dominance  that  he  felt  his  wife 
should  show.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  time 
he  was  marrying;  and  if  so,  Jane  would  be 
the  better  investment.  Besides,  he  had  got  a 
thrill  out  of  fencing  with  her  that  he  had 
thought  himself  too  jaded  to  feel  again.  So 
he  smiled  with  open  amusement  at  Leslie  when 
she  commanded:  "Now  talk  to  me." 

"  What  a  child  you  are,  Leslie,"  he  said 
indulgently.  '  You  really  like  this  sort  of 
thing?" 

"  Oh,  I  love  it !  All  the  pretty  dresses  and 
the  pretty  faces  and  the  sparkle  —  and  every- 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

body  's  been  so  lovely  to  me.  I  'm  just  crazy 
about  it!" 

'  They  've  been  so  lovely  to  you,  have 
they?  Of  course.  You're  a  good  person  to 
be  lovely  to  —  the  rich  Miss  Leslie  Carring- 
ton;  pretty,  smartly  dressed,  an  effective  part 
of  the  tableau  picture  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  is 
staging.  What  would  they  be  to  you  if  you 
were  only  little  Miss  Nobody,  without  any 
prospects  ?  " 

"My  real  friends  would  be  just  the  same 
to  me,"  defended  Leslie  swiftly. 

"Who,  for  example?" 

"  Oh,  Hester  would,  and  Josephine,  and  all 
the  girls  —  everybody,  I  guess." 

'  You  remember  when  Louise  Hetherton's 
father  lost  all  his  money  in  oats  ?  Where  's 
Louise  now  ?  " 

'  Why  —  why  —  I  have  n't  seen  Louise  for 
a  long  time !  " 

"  No,  probably  you  have  n't.  She  's  earning 
her  bread  down  on  Twenty-Second  Street  and 

32 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

you'd  not  recognize  her  if  you  met  her  on  the 
street  face  to  face." 

"  I  would  too !  I  would  too !  "  retorted  Leslie 
hotly.  "  I  '11  go  and  see  her  to-morrow. 
What 's  her  address,  and  how  do  you  get 
there?  How  dare  you  say  such  things  to  me, 
Scribie?" 

Indignantly  Leslie  pulled  out  a  little  ivory 
memorandum  tablet  and  pencil,  but  Scribner 
twisted  his  mouth  into  a  cynical  smile. 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  of  Twenty-Second 
Street  before?"  he  asked  coolly,  making  no 
move  to  give  her  the  address. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Leslie,  puzzled.  "It's 
somewhere  on  the  South  Side,  isn't  it?" 

'  Yes,  my  dear,"  he  answered,  "  it 's  some- 
where on  the  South  Side,  but  I  would  n't  ad- 
vise you  to  go  there  to  see  Louise." 

Leslie  stared  at  him  a  moment  and  then, 
moved  by  something  she  could  not  explain, 
blushed  painfully  and  laid  the  tablet  down  in 
her  lap. 

33 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said, 
and  her  young  face  was  very  sober. 

"  No?  "  Again  Scribner  twisted  his  mouth 
into  that  smile  that  had  no  mirth  in  it.  "  But 
it's  vastly  interesting.  Do  you  want  me  to 
go  on  ?  " 

For  the  moment  Leslie  had  no  reply,  and, 
taking  her  silence  for  consent,  he  continued. 

"  Louise  Hetherton  was  dropped  by  these 
society  women,"  -he  made  a  little  gesture 
towards  the  chattering  throng  —  "  and  forgot- 
ten in  a  week.  Old  Hetherton  shot  himself, 
you  remember,  when  the  crash  came.  Mrs. 
Hetherton  went  into  hysterics  and  then  into 
nervous  prostration.  Louise  didn't  know  how 
to  earn  a  dollar.  She  clerked  in  a  big  State 
Street  store  for  a  while,  on  six  dollars  a  week, 
which  is  probably  what  you  spend  on  hand- 
kerchiefs; and  you  can  imagine  that  that 
hardly  sufficed  to  support  herself  and  the  old 
lady.  She  learned  several  things  while  she  was 
in  that  store,  and  when  they  finally  fired  her 

34 


THE   VALLEY   OF    INDECISION 

for  incompetence  she  —  well,  she  went  out  on 
Twenty-Second  Street,  and  I  can't  give  you  her 
address.  That 's  how  much  you  can  depend  on 
the  people  you  say  have  been  so  lovely  to  you." 

Poor  little  Leslie  had  gone  red  and  white  by 
turns  during  Scribner's  brief  narrative,  and 
although  she  did  not  yet  comprehend  its  full 
significance,  she  understood  enough  to  repel 
and  disgust  her. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  she  said  uncertainly. 
"  How  do  you  know?" 

"  I  —  met  Louise  the  other  night,  with  Paul 
Henderson,  but  I  'd  heard  about  it  before." 

'  You  knew  before  —  you  knew  all  the  time  ? 
Why  did  n't  you  help  her  yourself?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  'm  not  an  angel.  Besides,  if  one  went 
into  the  rescuing  business  there  would  be  no 
money  left  to  buy  Leslie  Carrington  violets; 
and  that  would  hurt  her  feelings  dreadfully. 
...  I  've  told  you  only  one  story  out  of  a 
dozen  that  I  know.  The  point  is  that  society 

35 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

is  a  business,  just  as  much  as  pawnbroking  — 
you  give  so  much  and  take  so  much  in  return, 
or  more  if  you  can  get  it.  And  if  you  were  n't 
in  a  position  where  you  could  return  their 
favors,  all  these  women  that  you  say  have  been 
so  lovely  to  you  would  drop  you  like  a  hot 
potato.  .  .  .  I'm  telling  you  all  this  for  your 
good,  my  dear,  innocent  little  girl.  You  '11 
learn  it  sometime,  and  the  sooner  you  find  out 
the  better  it  will  be  for  you." 

Leslie  looked  down  silently  with  a  graver 
expression  than  he  had  ever  seen  on  her  gay 
little  face,  and  he  watched  her  attentively.  If 
she  took  his  frank  cynicism  as  an  insult,  it 
made  no  difference ;  there  were  plenty  of  others 
to  play  with.  If  she  took  it  as  an  expression 
of  his  superior  wisdom  —  well,  it  was  not  un- 
attractive to  play  the  role  of  mentor  with  a 
charming  debutante  for  a  pupil.  Perhaps  she 
might  even  be  seriously  attracted,  curiously 
won  by  that  spice  of  deviltry  which  often  gives 
a  man  added  charm  in  a  woman's  eyes.  If  she 

36 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

were  —  what  of  it  ?     She  would  get  over  it 
eventually.     He  waited  for  her  move. 

She  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet  and  put  her 
ivory  tablet  away. 

"  I  don't  think  I  want  to  be  wise,"  she  said 
with  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice.  '  Take  me 
back  to  Jane  —  or,  no,  I  '11  find  her  myself. 
And  —  Mr.  Scribner,  I  'm  not  your  dear." 

Before  he  could  answer  she  slipped  out  of 
the  alcove  and,  thrusting  her  way  through  the 
thinning  crowd,  sought  for  Jane. 

The  elder  Miss  Carrington  had  not  long  en- 
joyed her  sandwich  and  coffee  in  peace.  Be- 
fore she  disposed  of  two  bites  there  was  a 
greeting  in  her  ears. 

"  Hello,  Jane !    Have  n't  seen  you  for  ages. 
'  What  have  you  been  doing?  " 

"  I  'm  getting  interested  in  bookbinding  — 
fascinating  work.  Won't  you  join  our  class?  " 

;<  When  do  you  meet  ?  " 

u  Friday  mornings  before  the  Thomas 
Concert." 

37 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Oh,  that 's  lovely ;  I  have  n't  a  thing 
for  Friday  mornings.  Take  me  down,  will 
you?" 

"  I  'd  love  to.  I  '11  bring  the  electric  around 
at  half-past  eleven  for  you." 

"  All  right  —  good-by." 

The  stream  moved  on  and  swept  the  pro- 
spective bookbinder  away.  In  turn,  a  small 
old  woman  laid  a  kindly  hand  on  Jane's 
muff. 

"  Good  afternoon,  my  dear." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Kaufman.  I  am 
glad  to  see  you." 

"Is  your  mother  here?" 

'Yes;   she  is  receiving  in  the  front  room." 

"  Then  I  missed  her.  Is  n't  this  a  lovely 
affair?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  Jane's  voice  held  more  con- 
ventional enthusiasm  than  conviction.  "  You 
must  enjoy  going  out." 

The  old  lady's  face  lightened  up  with  a 
charming  youthful  expression. 

38 


THE    VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

"  My  dear  child,  you  must  not  think  that 
age  steals  our  pleasures.  I  'm  a  very  gay  old 
lady,  younger  in  heart  even  than  you,  I  am 
sure." 

'You  are  a  remarkable  woman,  Mrs. 
Kaufman." 

"  Not  remarkable ;  merely  modern.  Tell 
me,  dear,  are  you  interested  in  Japanese 
prints?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  them." 

'  Then  you  ought  to  learn.  We  have  a  class 
meeting  every  Wednesday  morning  at  my 
house.  We  are  three  old  ladies  in  the  class, 
but  we  want  girls  of  your  age,  too,  to  inspire 
us.  Do  come  next  week,  dear." 

''  Wednesday  morning?    Why,  I  'd  love  to." 

;<  We  shall  expect  you,  then  —  good-by." 

"  I  shall  be  a  prompt  scholar,  at  least.  .  .  . 
How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Norse." 

"  Miss  Carrington,  would  n't  you  be  inter- 
ested in  our  French  class?  We  converse  with 
Madame  every  Friday  morning." 

39 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  I  'm  sorry,  but  I  have  a  bookbinding  class 
on  that  day." 

"  What  a  shame.  Perhaps,  then,  you  would 
join  our  German  class  on  Tuesdays?" 

Jane  shook  her  head.  "  I  've  a  music  lesson 
at  ten." 

"  Then  you  can  just  make  it,  for  we  meet 
at  eleven  at  my  house.  So  glad ! "  and  the 
devotee  of  languages  gave  place  to  a  recent 
bride. 

"  I  've  just  been  persuading  the  girls  who  are 
contemplating  marriage  to  take  some  cooking 
lessons.  Don't  you  think  that 's  a  lovely 
idea?" 

"Do  you  suspect  me  of  contemplating?" 
laughed  Jane. 

"  One  is  never  sure  of  you.  Come,  though, 
whether  you  're  contemplating  or  not,  and  learn 
how  to  tell  your  cook  what  to  make.  You 
really  must  join;  all  your  friends  are  coming, 
and  we  make  perfectly  dear  little  loaves  of 
bread,  just  enough  for  one." 

40 


THE   VALLEY   OF    INDECISION 

"If  we  are  contemplating,  should  n't  we 
learn  to  make  them  for  two?" 

"  That  sounds  dreadfully  suspicious,  my 
dear." 

Jane  laughed.  "  Oh,  I  'm  not  interested,  my 
dear!" 

"  Come  once,  anyway.  Monday  at  eleven. 
We  eat  at  luncheon  what  we  have  cooked." 

"  I  don't  deserve  such  punishment." 

The  bride's  answering  giggle  was  drowned 
by  the  harsh  voice  of  a  masculine  looking  girl 
in  a  pea-green  silk  gown  that  accentuated  her 
sallow  skin. 

"  Here,  Jane  Carrington;  you're  just  the 
person  I  want  to  talk  to.  We  're  going  to  give 
a  play.  You  made  such  a  hit  in  the  '  Prince ' 
that  we  want  you  for  the  lead  —  it 's  a  love 
play — all  girls — he  and  she  and  broken  hearts 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing  —  in  our  ballroom 
—  dance  afterwards  —  all  for  charity  —  a 
crippled  hospital  for  children  —  I  mean  a  hos- 
pital for  crippled  children  —  somewhere  on 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

the  West  Side  —  three-dollar  or  five-dollar 
tickets  —  better  make  it  five  —  social  success, 
you  know  —  want  you  to  be  in  it." 

When  this  extraordinary  and  entirely  comma- 
less  sentence  was  completed  she  paused  for 
breath  and  looked  at  Jane  with  a  scowl  that 
held  no  unfriendliness. 

"  You  angel !  "  said  Jane  delightedly.  "  Of 
course  I  '11  come."  There  was  real  warmth 
in  her  voice. 

"  Knew  you  would,"  said  the  other  in  a  busi- 
ness-like way.  "  First  rehearsal  at  our  house 
Thursday  at  ten.  Have  you  seen  Dorothy? 
Thought  this  was  the  best  place  to  find  the 
troupe.  I  'm  manager."  And  with  that  she 
plowed  on  her  way,  looking  for  her  "  support." 

"  Miss  Carrington,  will  you  be  on  the  finance 
committee  for  —  " 

Jane  greeted  the  newcomer  with  a  preoccu- 
pied smile,  her  mind  still  on  the  play. 

"  Sweet  of  you  to  ask  me,  but  I  could  n't, 

really." 

42 


THE   VALLEY    OF   INDECISION 

"  I  have  n't  told  you  yet  what  it  is  for." 

"  It  would  n't  make  any  difference,  for  I 
simply  could  n't,"  laughed  Jane.  "  I  am  giving 
a  luncheon  on  Monday,  studying  German  and 
music  on  Tuesday,  hearing  about  Japanese 
prints  on  Wednesday,  bookbinding  on  Friday, 
singing  on  Saturday,  and  rehearsing  on  Thurs- 
day !  Oh,  I  really  could  n't.  But  it  was  so 
nice  of  you  to  ask  me."  And  Jane  passed  on, 
unmistakably  happy. 

"  Miss  Carrington,  how  do  you  do !  "  smiled 
another  guest  very  sweetly.  '  You  are  fond 
of  tailor-mades,  aren't  you?" 

"  Oh  yes,  very,"  rejoined  Jane  with  designed 
enthusiasm.  "  I  prefer  simple  lines." 

The  elaborately  gowned  woman,  drawing 
her  ruffles  aside,  remarked  to  the  next  woman 
she  met :  "  That  Jane  Carrington  is  too  hor- 
ribly conceited  for  words.  Simple  lines  indeed ! 
She  certainly  succeeds  in  getting  them  and 
showing  her  figure.  Think  of  coming  to  a 
reception  in  a  tailor-made !  " 

43 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Perhaps  she  is  creating  a  new  fashion," 
answered  the  other  woman. 

"  Well,  the  self  assurance  of  some  of  these 
girls  is  simply  outrageous.  Did  you  see  what 
Town  Chat  had  about  her  this  week?  It  was 
simply  delicious." 

Jane  heard  the  remark,  and  smiled  dryly. 
Her  eyes  had  once  been  innocently  trusting, 
like  Leslie's,  but  long  ago  they  had  been  opened 
and  this  sort  of  talk  slid  off  her  like  water  off 
a  duck's  back.  She  worked  her  way  towards 
the  drawing-room  and  presently  was  arrested 
by  the  voice  of  the  girl  in  the  pea-green  gown 
who  now  was  selling  tickets  to  an  extrava- 
gantly gowned  woman. 

"What  is  it  for — crippled  children?  No; 
sorry,  I  don't  care  for  any.  I  hate  crippled 
things." 

The  brutality  of  the  last  remark  brought 
Jane  to  a  stop  and  she  looked  squarely  into 
the  eyes  of  the  jewel-bedecked  speaker. 

"  You  might  at  least  help  to  alleviate  their 
44 


THE    VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

sufferings,"  she  said  directly,  and  the  woman 
floundered  for  a  retort  while  Jane  passed  on 
with  a  scornful  smile. 

"  Jane  Carrington ! "  gasped  the  woman,  after 
her  retreating  form.  "  Is  n't  she  impudent ! 
Oh,  well,  —  you  might  send  me  some  tickets, 
anyway.  What?  A  play  with  society  girls 
in  it  ?  Oh !  why  did  n't  you  say  so  ?  Five 
dollars?  Oh,  that's  nothing,  send  me  six." 

Jane  suddenly  felt  physically  and  mentally 
wearied.  She  had  gained  the  drawing-room 
at  last.  It  was  sickeningly  hot,  the  flowers 
heavily  fragrant,  the  music  louder,  the  chatter 
more  incessant.  She  glanced  about.  There 
was  her  well-groomed,  aristocratic  mother, 
showing  no  signs  of  fatigue,  graciously  help- 
ing to  receive  Mrs.  Van  Mueller's  stream  of 
guests ;  there  were  all  the  others  —  animated, 
gay,  apparently  enjoying  it  all.  Jane  felt  that 
her  own  viewpoint  must  be  at  fault.  Perhaps 
if  she  had  taken  time  to  dress  more  gayly  she 
might  have  been  in  a  better  mood.  She  ought 

45 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

not  to  remain  now  that  she  could  do  justice 
neither  to  herself  nor  to  others.  She  would 
go  home  and  try  to  find  that  other  self  that 
took  a  joy  in  these  things. 

As  she  moved  towards  the  door,  Leslie,  with 
her  wraps  on,  slipped  her  hand  through  Jane's 
arm,  and  the  older  girl,  looking  down,  was 
startled  at  the  weariness  of  her  face. 

"Why,  Leslie  dear,  you  look  like  a  ghost! 
What's  the  matter?" 

Leslie  cuddled  her  sister's  arm  closer  against 
her  side,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  almost 
with  a  sob. 

"  Oh,  Janie,  let 's  go  home.  I  'm  so  tired 
—  so  tired.  I  don't  ever  want  to  see  a  recep- 
tion again." 

Jane  glanced  at  her  again,  keenly,  and 
sighed.  It  had  to  come  sometime  —  this  first 
weariness  and  disillusion;  though  she  had 
hoped  it  would  not  come  so  soon  for  Leslie. 
Suddenly  she  remembered  one  August  day 
when,  riding  along  the  boulevard,  she  had  seen 

46 


THE   VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 

the  first  soft  flurry  of  yellow  autumn  leaves 
flutter  down  from  a  willow,  and  the  sharp 
prophecy  of  winter  that  had  swiftly  constricted 
her  heart. 

Discreetly  she  refrained  from  asking  ques- 
tions ;  and  when  they  reached  home  she  tucked 
Leslie  into  her  own  bed  and  kissed  her  with 
unwonted  tenderness. 


47 


CHAPTER   III 

So  the  winter  passed,  in  alternate  moods  of 
gayety  and  rebellion,  and  spring  came  to  Chi- 
cago. The  fate  in  charge  of  Jane's  affairs 
turned  over,  rubbed  her  eyes,  and  added  a 
totally  unexpected  pawn  to  the  chessboard 
where  Jane  was  queen. 

"  I  'm  tired  of  this  counter-checking,"  said 
the  old  witch,  being  a  woman  and  unable  to 
refrain  from  cheating  even  when  playing  a 
solitaire  game.  "  Let 's  see  what  you  will  do 
with  him,  my  lady." 

On  the  boulevards  bunches  of  violets  decked 
the  muffs,  saucy  hats  of  extravagant  crowns 
and  erratic  brims  perched  on  the  newest  coif- 
fures, and  a  daring  robin  sang  his  cheery  bour- 
geois tune  in  the  elms  of  Lincoln  Park.  In 
the  zoo,  old  Caesar  padded  up  and  down  his 
cage  resentfully,  pausing  to  sniff  at  the  gate- 

48 


THE   VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 

way  that  led  to  out-of-doors  and  throw  back 
his  head  in  a  deep,  grating  roar  of  balked 
longing. 

Jane  padded  up  and  down  the  cage  of  her 
spirit  in  much  the  same  fashion.  She  longed 
to  get  away  to  the  country  where  she  could 
rest  and  reflect,  but  in  the  well-groomed  coun- 
try estates  she  visited  the  very  earth  was  un- 
natural, and  Jane  might  as  well  have  tried 
to  sleep  in  a  tree.  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  never 
allowed  time  to  drag  at  her  house-parties 
in  her  expensive  Wisconsin  chateau,  and 
always  tactfully  expected  her  guests  to  do 
their  share  in  making  the  summer  season  a 
success. 

Jane  and  Leslie  arrived  at  Fairview  fully 
prepared  to  hold  their  own  in  the  conventional 
dress  parade  and  the  conventional  polite  sword- 
play.  The  girls,  carefully  selected  for  their 
charms,  watched  each  other  out  of  the  corners 
of  their  eyes,  as  co-envoys  in  a  truce  watch 
the  faces  of  their  fellows;  the  extra-eligible 

49 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

men  that  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  always  picked  to 
be  within  range  of  her  nondescript  daughter, 
Margaret,  assumed  languid  airs,  as  befitted  the 
hunted. 

Not  that  Margaret  was  in  this  game;  al- 
though she  was  Leslie's  own  age,  Mrs.  Van 
Mueller  was  firm  in  her  idea  that  she  was  still 
too  young  to  consider  marriage;  but,  before 
Margaret  should  take  the  field,  her  diplomatic 
mother  was  not  at  all  averse  to  helping  her 
daughter's  chances  by  getting  attractive  Jane 
Carrington  out  of  the  way.  So  she  made  it 
her  business  to  throw  Jane  and  Walter  Scrib- 
ner  together.  This  house-party,  she  calcu- 
lated, should  bring  it  off  if  Jane  did  not  fail 
her. 

As  for  Jane,  she  had  angled  her  trout  well. 
Walter  Scribner's  interest  had  been  growing 
all  through  the  spring,  and  as  he  became  more 
eager  she  had  drawn  back  —  partly  from  de- 
liberation and  partly  with  a  certain  involun- 
tary repulsion.  Sooner  or  later,  she  told 


THE   VALLEY    OF   INDECISION 

herself,  she  might  as  well  marry  him  —  there 
seemed  nothing  else  to  do  —  and  the  achieve- 
ment of  netting  a  bachelor  whom  fifteen  sea- 
sons had  left  uncaptured  was  not  bad  food  for 
her  vanity.  Still  she  put  it  off  and  held  him 
cleverly  from  the  point,  for  a  mixture  of 
reasons  that  she  herself  could  hardly  have 
analyzed. 

Yet  she  had  come  to  the  house-party  quite 
aware  of  her  hostess'  benevolent  intentions 
and,  in  certain  moods,  quite  prepared  to  back 
her  up.  A  touch,  a  word,  might  have  thrown 
the  balance  of  her  indecision;  and  that  touch 
came  when  the  pawn  upon  which  none  of  them 
reckoned  appeared  —  the  musician,  Ludwig 
Darenbeck. 

Darenbeck  was  a  violinist  whom  Mrs.  Van 
Mueller  had  engaged  to  play  for  the  house- 
party,  and  although  he  was  nominally  a  guest 
he  was  treated  with  perhaps  a  shade  more 
courtesy  than  the  butler  by  most  of  the  young 
people.  Jane  had  come  upon  him  one  morning 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

very  early  in  the  garden,  where  he  had  gone 
to  feed  the  squirrels  —  his  daily  custom.  He 
had  been  gruff  at  first,  evidently  expecting  the 
usual  patronage,  but  when  Jane  had  met  him 
with  frank  friendliness  and  open  respect  for 
his  more-than-ordinary  talent,  he  had  thawed 
with  startling  swiftness. 

"  Mein  Gott,  Fraulein,"  he  had  said,  "  that 
is  the  first  word  —  of  —  of  Anerkennung  I 
haf  had  in  this  place.  It  is  go  here  and  go 
there  and,  ach,  Herr  Darenbeck,  come  play 
those  waltzes  that  are  all  barley-sugar  — 
things  to  give  to  children;  never  the  respect 
for  the  artist.  Himmel!  In  Germany  the 
Schulkinder  have  more  Verstandnis." 

Jane  smiled  wryly. 

"  They  're  just  thoughtless,  Herr  Daren- 
beck,"  she  said.  "  And  music  is  n't  bred  in 
the  American  nation  as  it  is  in  the  German. 
Last  night  —  Schubert's  '  Standchen '  —  Mischa 
Elman  himself  could  n't  have  interpreted  it 
better." 

52 


THE   VALLEY    OF   INDECISION 

"You  know  Mischa  Elman?"  he  asked 
quickly. 

"  I  never  miss  one  of  his  performances  when 
he  is  in  this  country,"  she  answered.  '  You 
know  how  he  plays  Schubert,  and  especially 
that  particular  composition.  But  you  make 
the  violin  sing  even  more." 

The  German  hardly  seemed  to  hear  her 
praise.  His  blue  eyes  were  focused  very  far 
away,  although  he  was  apparently  looking 
down  at  the  grass  at  his  feet. 

"  I  heard  Mischa  Elman  in  the  Old  Coun- 
try," he  said  dreamily.  "  He  played  —  ach, 
herrlich!  He  came  to  America,  he  made  the 
great  success.  I,  too,  come  —  Ludwig  Daren- 
beck  —  and  I  play  '  That  Mysterious  Rag '  on 
my  fiddle  to  make  old  Anton  Stradivarius  turn 
over  in  his  grave.  Gnadiges !  Fraulein,  some 
day  I  play  for  you  when  the  rest  are  gone  on 
their  picnics,  and  I  show  you  what  the  violin 
can  do  —  ja,  ja?  " 

"  I  shall  count  it  an  honor  if  you  will,"  said 
S3 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Jane  with  sincerity,  and  from  that  moment 
they  were  friends.  Often  when  the  laughing 
crowd  were  gathered  in  the  big,  low-raft- 
ered living-room  and  the  comfortable  piazzas, 
Darenbeck  played  ostensibly  for  the  party  but 
in  reality  for  Jane,  who  sat  with  misty  eyes, 
relaxing  herself  to  the  music,  dreaming  mar- 
velous dreams.  Walter  Scribner  found  her 
distrait  and  unapproachable  at  such  times; 
and,  although  he  tried  to  provoke  her  to  jeal- 
ousy by  an  open  devotion  to  Betty  Chamber- 
lain, he  did  not  even  cause  a  flutter  of  her 
eyelids.  She  was  bored  with  Scribner  and  the 
party,  disgusted  with  herself,  dissatisfied  with 
everything.  As  slangy  Harry  Summers  put  it, 
Jane  "  had  on  a  peach  of  a  grouch." 

One  morning  she  refused  to  go  sailing,  plead- 
ing a  headache ;  and  when  the  gay  crowd  were 
only  a  white  sail  in  the  distance  she  slipped 
into  a  middy  blouse  and  walked  miles  away 
to  the  woods. 

A  Wisconsin  woodland  is  a  beautiful  place 
54 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

-mossy,  fragrant  with  pine,  white  with 
birches,  threaded  by  tinkling,  clinking  little 
streams.  Jane  found  some  ripe  dewberries 
and  rolled  their  wild  tartness  on  her  tongue 
appreciatively ;  surprised  a  bluebird  at  his  bath 
in  a  tiny  pool;  watched  a  gold-eyed  frog  with 
a  white  waistcoat  as  he  caught  his  morning 
meal  of  flies ;  and  had  just  puckered  her  mouth 
to  whistle  a  gay  little  air  when  she  walked 
around  a  rock  and  came  point  blank  upon 
Ludwig  Darenbeck. 

">  Marchenzauber !  Eine  Waldnymphe !  Hier 
in  Amerika !  "  He  greeted  her  with  a  quizzi- 
cal smile.  "Look;  I  have  found  a  kinsman 
of  yours.  I  have  piped  to  him  and  he  has 
danced.  Hush,  now,  and  I  will  show." 

Jane  dropped  on  the  fallen  log  beside  him, 
in  obedience  to  his  gesture,  and  held  her  breath. 
He  slipped  his  violin  under  his  cheek  and  drew 
from  it  a  long  note  —  another  —  and  Jane  fol- 
lowed his  eyes  to  where  a  gray  squirrel  was 
doubtfully  descending  the  trunk  of  a  great  ash 

55 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

near-by.  The  little  beast  was  plainly  interested 
in  the  music,  which  now  dripped  in  liquid  gold 
from  his  bow.  Dappled  sun  among  the  leaves, 
sunny  water  crisped  by  wind,  finches  darting 
in  the  hedge,  —  that  was  what  he  played ;  and 
bit  by  bit  the  furry  creature  drew  closer,  paus- 
ing to  sit  up  on  its  hind  legs  and  chatter 
softly  in  answer.  Jane  watched  it,  fascinated. 
She  had  never  been  so  close  to  a  wild  thing 
before,  and  when,  finally,  in  one  desperate  burst 
of  courage,  it  dashed  up  on  Darenbeck's  knee, 
close  to  the  music  that  had  called  it,  she  could 
not  restrain  herself. 

"  Oh,  the  darling!  "  she  cried,  and  in  a  flash 
the  squirrel  was  gone. 

"  Oh,  Englisch  verscheucht  es,"  said  Daren- 
beck  gravely,  yet  with  a  smile  puckering  the 
corners  of  his  mouth.  "  I  have  talked  to 
him  in  German  and  he  has  understood  very 
well.  .  .  .  How  did  you  like  that  Paganini  last 
night?" 

"Oh,  it  was  wonderful,"  Jane  answered 
56 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

eagerly.  "  Play  it  again  for  me  —  won't  you? 
I  can  hear  it  better  out  here." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  Fraulein ;  it  is  not  for  the  woods,  even 
if  I  could  play  it  on  this  poor  fiddle,  my  second 
best,  that  I  take  only  to  the  woods.  Paganini 
was  a  genius.  He  wrote  things  that  no  one 
—  no,  not  even  I,  Ludwig  Darenbeck  —  may 
play  —  no  one  except  himself,  the  master.  But 
he  did  not  write  for  the  woods.  He  wrote 
for  den  Konzertsaal,  for  the  people;  and  him, 
Paganini,  the  master,  standing  up  there  play- 
ing the  '  Devil's  Trill '  for  them  all.  Ja  wohl  — 
he  wrote  for  that.  Here  we  play  him  not ;  here 
we  want  a  Wanderlied  such  as  the  Handwerks- 
burschen  sing  in  the  woods  or  a  Ringelreihen 
such  as  children  have  at  their  games,  or  a  Vo- 
gelzwitschern  to  make  him  answer  back —  so?  " 

He  played  a  few  hushed  notes  and,  sure 
enough,  a  brown  thrush,  cocking  his  head  on 
one  side,  answered  tentatively. 

The  genial  German  laughed  like  a  boy  and 
57 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Jane  echoed  him.  It  was  impossible  to  be 
artificial  with  him.  He  got  straight  down 
through  the  husk  to  the  woman  beneath ;  simple 
himself,  he  had  the  gift  of  wakening  an  an- 
swering simplicity.  Now  he  turned  to  her 
directly. 

"And  you,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  here? 
They  "  —  and  he  made  a  motion  towards  the 
house  —  "  they  dance  and  dress  and  giggle  and 
make  big  eyes  and  know  no  more.  But  you 
have  the  ear  for  the  music,  Sie  haben  Gemiit, 
Sie  horen  mit  dem  Herzen.  I  have  seen  you 
when  I  play,  when  you  thought  no  one  was 
looking  —  the  fire  dies  out  of  your  eyes,  you 
are  like  that  bird  yonder,  if  one  put  him  in  a 
cage." 

Jane  broke  off  a  bit  of  bark. 

"  I  Ve  always  wanted  to  act,  Herr  Daren- 
beck,"  she  said  simply,  "  but  father  and  mother 
think  acting  is  dreadful.  They  want  me  to 
stay  at  home.  They  say  it  will  break  their 
hearts  if  I  go." 

58 


THE   VALLEY    OF   INDECISION 

"  Ach,  so!  "  rumbled  the  German.  "  So,  so! 
And  then?" 

"  Oh,  I  'm  to  make  a  rich  match  and  be  a 
social  leader,  and  carry  on  the  traditions  of 
the  family,"  said  Jane  with  a  sorry  grin. 
"  And  if  you  want  to  know  what  I  think  about 
it,  it 's  bother  the  family.  But  —  you  see,  I  'm 
just  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  come." 

He  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"  If  you  were  the  ordinary  girl,"  he  said 
gravely,  "  I  would  say  stay  with  the  father 
and  mother  and  make  them  happy  —  the  stage 
is  no  place  for  you.  But  I  see,  no  matter  what 
you  pretend  to  do,  laugh  or  joke,  you  live  in 
the  acting.  Your  voice  is  song;  you  would 
make  people  laugh  and  cry  with  that  voice. 
Listen  —  it  is  this  on  the  violin  —  no,  I  will 
not  try.  You  have  the  temperament  —  you 
would  make  the  great  actress  —  and,  Fraulein, 
you  should  be  out  in  the  world  doing  the  big 
things." 

"  How  can  I  ?  "    Jane's  voice  was  sharp. 
59 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  You  must  go  alone.  You  think  you  can 
sit  and  wait  and  opportunity  will  fall  in  your 
lap.  Das  ist  nicht  recht.  You  must  go 
out  and  seek  and  work  and  love  and  suffer 
ancl  weep,  and  then  you  will  be  the  great 
artist." 

"And  suppose  I  fail?  What  can  I  do  if 
I  lose  my  faith  in  myself  ?  " 

The  words  were  a  cry  of  need.  Jane  had 
packed  her  trunk  more  than  once  to  flee,  and 
then  had  been  mocked  by  the  little  devil  of 
possible  failure,  possible  laughter,  possible 
scorn.  Darenbeck  shook  his  head. 

"  Pouf !  That  is  every  man's  lot.  Look  at 
me  playing  the  fiddle  here  —  playing  that  ver- 
fluchte  *  Mysterious  Rag '  when  I  have  Paga- 
nini  in  my  soul.  I  love  music,  I  study,  I  save, 
I  work  and  work,  I  come  to  this  country  and 
I  cannot  create,  I  can't  write  a  bar.  All  my 
heart  and  soul  is  in  the  Fatherland.  I  am  a 
failure  —  I,  Ludwig  Darenbeck.  Now  you 
come;  you  bring  back  the  Schaffensdrang;  you 

60 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

inspire  me  again  —  and  then  you  say  how  if 
you  have  no  faith?  You  are  what  the  little 
children  call  a  fraidy-cat,  Fraulein.  Listen  to 
me.  The  good  God  has  made  but  a  chosen 
few  to  be  artists;  but  when  he  has  one  made, 
that  artist  must  give  up  everything  to  his  art. 
He  has  no  family.  He  has  no  home.  He  has 
no  duty.  He  is  one  with  the  stars;  he  is  part 
of  the  universe;  he  is  a  god  himself.  That 
is  a  great  artist." 

The  conviction  in  his  voice  stirred  Jane  to 
her  depths  and  filled  her  with  an  ecstacy  of 
power  and  courage. 

"Oh,  if  I  only  could!"  she  breathed.  "I 
must!  I  must!  I  don't  mind  the  work  or  the 
struggle  or  failing  at  first.  You  have  said 
enough  to  make  me  go  in  spite  of  everything." 

"  Think  it  over,  Fraulein,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  It  is  much  to  disobey  your  people ;  but  if 
you  are  sure  you  can  endure  and  win  at  last, 
I  say  to  you,  go;  and  the  good  God  bless 
you." 

61 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

When  Jane  and  Darenbeck  finally  came  out 
of  the  woods  together  and  sauntered  across 
the  lawn  they  were  in  full  view  of  the  sailing 
party  just  returning  for  luncheon. 

"  Our  artists  seem  to  have  been  enjoying  a 
tete-a-tete,"  commented  Margaret  Van  Muel- 
ler. Her  mother  raised  her  eyebrows,  not 
pleased  with  the  evident  truth  of  the  girl's 
remark,  and  the  sailing  party  laughed. 

"  Mr.  Darenbeck  looks  quite  human,"  said 
Betty  Chamberlain  sweetly,  quite  satisfied  with 
herself. 

:<  He  adores  her,"  piped  up  Leslie,  proud  of 
her  big  sister's  ability  to  win  devotion  every- 
where. "  Have  n't  you  noticed  how  he  always 
looks  at  her  when  he  plays?" 

"  He  does,  does  he,  little  one  ?  "  said  Walter 
in  a  low  tone  at  her  side.  They  were  recon- 
ciled and  he  had  tried  no  more  mentor  work 
with  her. 

"  Yes,  I  can  always  tell  when  people  are 

fond  of  Jane.     Oh,  yes  I  can." 

62 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

"Does  she  like  him?"  ventured  Walter. 

"  It  took  her  a  whole  half  hour  to  tell  me 
last  night  what  a  fine  but  unappreciated  musi- 
cian he  is.  You  know,  Scribie,  Jane  can't 
always  be  thinking  of  you." 

Clever  little  Leslie,  to  learn  her  game  so  well 
in  one  short  debutante  year.  She  knew  the 
rules,  and  half  suspected,  as  Walter  moved 
abruptly  away,  that  she  had  played  a  trump 
card.  She  was  not  wrong;  for  her  remark, 
Darenbeck's  manifest  contentment,  and  Jane's 
unwonted  gravity  throughout  the  day,  put 
Walter  in  a  mood  of  jealousy  that  made  him 
thoroughly  uncomfortable.  But  he  was  his 
usual  suave  self,  and  it  was  not  until  Jane 
complained  of  weariness,  after  their  first  waltz 
together  at  Mrs.  Raymond's  dance  that  even- 
ing, that  he  made  any  move.  Even  then  it 
was  an  innocent  looking  suggestion. 

"  It 's  half-past  eleven,"  he  said,  looking  at 
his  watch.  '  Jimmy  Raymond's  canoe  is  at 
the  foot  of  the  path,  and  I  'm  always  welcome 

63 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

to  use  it.  Suppose  I  take  you  home  by  lake. 
We  '11  arrive  just  about  the  time  the  rest  of 
the  party  get  there." 

The  suggestion  was  grateful  to  Jane,  wearied 
with  the  heat  and  the  music,  and  she  consented. 
Once  launched,  she  almost  forgot  his  exist- 
ence. It  was  a  still,  clear  night  with  a  full 
moon  reflected  in  dazzling  silver  on  the  dark 
water.  Here  and  there  the  night  was  studded 
with  pier  lights,  and  the  voices  of  crickets 
vied  with  the  startled  call  of  a  whip-poor- 
will.  Jane  dipped  her  hands  into  the  still 
water  and  listened  to  the  lazy  swish  of  his 
paddle  without  speaking.  Suddenly  Scribner 
broke  the  silence. 

"  Look  at  the  moon,"  he  said. 

"Why?" 

"  It  will  give  me  more  light  to  see  how 
beautiful  you  are." 

Jane  hastily  turned  her  face  into  the  shadow. 

"  You  are  in  a  strange  mood  to-night,"  he 
continued  in  the  subdued  voice  that  usually 

64 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

presages  an  intimate  conversation.     "  I  have 
never  known  you  to  be  so  silent." 

"  You  have  never  known  me  at  all,"  she 
replied  in  a  tone  as  subdued  as  his. 

"  I  thought  I  did  your  first  year  out,  but 
since  then  you  baffle  comprehension.  No  one 
understands  you." 

Jane  suddenly  thought  of  Darenbeck  and 
how  well  he  had  understood.  The  memory 
gave  her  a  sense  of  cherished  possession,  but 
she  restrained  her  elation  under  a  tantaliz- 
ing "No?" 

"  I  could  if  you  would  let  me." 

"  Perhaps." 

"Have  you  ever  let  yourself  be  under- 
stood?" 

"  Sometimes." 

"  Tell  me  about  yourself,"  he  urged. 

"  Size  of  collar  —  " 

Her  mocking  laughter  exasperated  him. 

''  Why  will  you  not  be  serious  ?  " 

"Why  should  I?" 

65 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

'  You  seemed  pleased  enough  to  come  out 
here  with  me." 

"  Yes ;   it  was  hot  in  the  ballroom." 

"  I  am  of  no  consequence,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes ;   you  are  convenient." 

"  You  are  acting,"  said  Walter,  digging  his 
paddle  deep  into  the  water,  his  anger  growing. 

"No,  I  am  just  the  ordinary,  conventional 
woman." 

"  Ordinary !  Conventional !  Jane,  what 
makes  you  behave  this  way?  You  are  not  like 
any  woman  I  ever  knew." 

"  Perhaps  I  go  to  a  different  tailor,"  said 
Jane  lightly.  "  I  must  tell  him  what  a  com- 
pliment he  has  received  from  a  person  of  your 
wide  experience." 

Scribner's  hurt  vanity  was  balanced  by  his 
desire  to  pin  her  down  to  a  serious  conversa- 
tion and  he  went  at  her  directly. 

'''  What  did  Mr.  Darenbeck  say  to  you  when 
you  were  in  the  woods  together  ?  " 

"  He  played  for  me." 
66 


THE   VALLEY   OF    INDECISION 

"  They  say  you  may  be  in  love  with  him." 

"Who  says  that?" 

"  Our  friends  at  the  house.  They  say  that 
when  he  plays  the  whole  expression  of  your 
face  changes.  It  is  true,  for  I  have  seen 
you." 

"They  think  that  a  sign  I  love  him?" 

"  Yes." 

"That  is  absurd." 

"  He  loves  you." 

"  You  are  mistaken." 

"  You  would  deny  it  even  if  it  were  true." 

"  Your  questioning  is  impertinent." 

He  had  struck  fire  at  last  and  he  followed 
it  up. 

'  Jane,  you  have  played  me  fast  and  loose 
all  season,  and  I  am  tired  of  it,"  he  said  ear- 
nestly, laying  his  paddle  across  the  gunwales 
and  leaning  forward'.  "  I  sincerely  want  you 
to  be  serious  now.  ...  I  have  been  trying  at 
intervals  during  these  last  few  days  to  tell  you 
that  I  have  been  thinking  about  marriage." 

67 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Jane's  heart  almost  stopped  beating.  It 
was  coming.  Scribner,  the  wary,  the  adept, 
the  philanderer,  was  caught  at  last.  She  could 
hardly  wait  to  hear  how  great  was  her 
victory. 

"  I  am  fastidious  enough  to  demand  har- 
mony in  those  closest  to  me,"  he  went  on,  with 
a  shade  of  embarrassment  in  his  voice.  "  I 
expect  my  wife  to  spend  my  money  as  grace- 
fully as  she  can  in  maintaining  the  position 
I  offer  her.  As  long  as  she  is  true  to  me,  she 
may  gratify  her  tastes  and  whims  at  her  leis- 
ure. Are  these  very  difficult  conditions  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  answered  Jane.  "  You  are 
generous  in  setting  no  limitations  to  the 
tastes." 

"  I  trust  to  her  discretion." 
"  How  do  you  define  discretion?  " 
"  A  sense  of  the  proprieties,  and  abstinence 
from  erratic  actions  that  cause  too  much  public 
comment." 

"  More  frankly,  such  actions  as  mine,  which 
68 


THE   VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 

have  from  time  to  time  aroused  your  conven- 
tional disapproval.  For  instance,  you  consider 
amateur  theatricals  a  little  undignified?" 

"  Not  necessarily  for  the  younger  girls ;  for 
my  wife,  yes." 

Now  it  was  Jane  who  was  shocked  —  not 
so  much  at  his  narrowness  as  at  her  one-time 
willingness  to  give  up  her  liberty  for  him.  She 
thought  of  Ludwig  Darenbeck's  passionate 
declaration  of  his  faith  in  his  art,  and  plunged 
her  hot  hands  into  the  water  once  more. 

Walter  leaned  closer  to  her,  and  the  canoe 
dipped. 

"  You  will  marry  me,  Jane  ?  " 

She  answered  slowly  and  gently,  every  word 
weighted  with  finality. 

"  I  am  sorry  —  but  no,  I  cannot." 

"  What?  Why  not?  "  He  had  so  expected 
acceptance,  his  question  rang  out  sharply. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  an  actress." 

"  An  actress  —  a  common  actress  ?  You 
would  n't  degrade  yourself  to  that !  " 

69 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  I  can't  discuss  it  with  you,  Walter.  We 
argue  from  such  different  standards.  I  am 
very,  very  sorry,  but  it  is  impossible." 

"  I  should  never  have  asked  you  if  I  had  n't 
been  practically  certain  of  my  answer.  You 
can't  deny  that  you  have  been  leading  me 
on." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  in  my  defense,  and 
I  can't  help  what  you  think.  I  have  changed 
my  mind,  that  is  all." 

"  Perhaps  your  fine  musician  has  had  a  hand 
in  this,  after  all,"  said  Scribner,  talking  at 
random  to  hide  his  chagrin.  The  remark  and 
his  tone  were  too  rough  to  ignore.  All  the 
happenings  of  the  day  had  unnerved  her ;  and 
Jane  commanded  him  to  take  her  home. 

Walter  laughed,  trying  equally  to  hide  his 
hurt  conceit  and  to  impress  Jane  with  the  idea 
that  he  had  merely  postponed  his  intention  of 
conquest.  But  he  took  up  his  paddle  and  pres- 
ently, in  silence,  beached  the  canoe  by  the  Fair- 
view  pier. 

70 


Mrs.  Lathrop  Van  Mueller,  sitting  alone  on 
the  veranda  at  Fairview,  had  astonishment 
strongly  marked  on  her  face  when  she  saw 
them  come  up  the  path  from  the  pier. 

"Is  the  dance  over  at  the  Raymonds?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  Jane  replied,  trying  to  ap- 
pear unconcerned.  "  It  was  very  hot  in  the 
ballroom,  so  Walter  offered  to  take  me  on 
the  lake.  I  told  Margaret  we  were  going  and 
would  meet  them  here  when  they  returned;  I 
was  too  tired  to  dance." 

Mrs.  Van  Mueller  had  an  aristocratic  way 
of  raising  her  eyebrows,  and  she  raised  them 
pointedly  now. 

"  Indeed !  Mr.  Scribner,  may  I  trouble  you 
to  find  my  shawl?  I  believe  I  left  it  in  the 
dining-room  after  dinner,  but  if  it  is  not  there 
my  maid  will  give  it  to  you.  It  is  growing 
chilly." 

"  At  your  service,"  said  Walter  courteously. 

He  was  scarcely  out  of  earshot  when  Mrs. 
Van  Mueller  laid  her  ringless  hand  on  Jane's 


UNQUENCHED   FIRE 

bare  arm.  She  never  wore  jewels  except  on 
state  occasions,  preferring,  since  every  one 
knew  she  possessed  them,  to  make  them  con- 
spicuous by  their  absence.  The  suspicion  of 
a  smile  flickered  about  her  thin  lips  as  she 
asked : 

"  Have  you  accepted  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  and  I  have  no  intention  of  doing  so," 
was  all  Jane  could  answer  without  becoming 
hysterical. 

"  You  have  no  intention  —  "  Mrs.  Van 
Mueller  drew  away  her  hand  and  her  voice 
grew  cold.  "  My  dear  young  lady,  do  you 
realize  your  breech  of  etiquette  in  leaving  a 
ballroom  to  engage  a  man  in  a  tete-a-tete  on 
the  lake  if  you  wish  no  importance  attached 
to  your  actions?  You  were  decidedly  indis- 
creet. I  am  not  accustomed  to  having  my 
daughter's  friends  lay  themselves  open  to  un- 
complimentary discussion." 

"  I  did  n't  think  of  that ;    I  was  only  glad 

to  have  an  opportunity  of  leaving  the  room. 

72 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

The  heat  had  given  me  a  headache.  I  saw 
no  wrong  in  leaving." 

"Oh,  no;  not  that,  my  dear,"  —  she  said 
the  "  dear "  very  delicately  —  "  but  I  do  not 
approve  of  your  unconventionality.  It  would 
have  been  quite  a  different  matter  if  you  had 
accepted  him.  You  are  very  unwise  to  refuse 
him,  Jane.  His  money  and  position  would 
mean  a  great  deal  to  you  in  the  future." 

"  I  am  not  seeking  to  marry  money,  Mrs. 
Van  Mueller." 

'  Take  my  advice ;  you  had  better  do  so 
before  you  get  too  deeply  entangled  with  your 
charming  musician !  "  The  tone  was  biting. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  my  dear  girl,  that  your  attitude 
towards  our  poor  violin  strummer  has  been 
most  decidedly  indiscreet.  I  shall  also  take  this 
opportunity  to  ask  that  you  do  not  exchange 
any  further  words  with  him  beyond  the  mere 
civilities  of  convention.  You  need  not  inter- 
rupt me.  You  will  doubtless  call  him  an  artist. 

73 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

I  tell  you  that  he  has  a  wife  and  three  little 
ones  to  support,  and  I  would  remind  you  of 
the  fact  that  you  are  my  daughter's  friend. 
Your  parents  will  thank  me  for  the  interest 
I  am  taking  in  your  future.  You  are  a  very 
foolish  girl  to  reject  Walter  Scribner.  As  to 
the  musician,  I  shall  pay  him  to-morrow  for 
his  services  and  tell  him  that  I  no  longer  need 
him." 

'  There  is  no  need  of  your  doing  that,  Mrs. 
Van  Mueller,"  cried  Jane,  her  voice  shaking. 
"  I  should  very  much  dislike  to  cause  the  starva- 
tion of  the  '  wife  and  three  little  ones.'  So  I 
shall  thank  you  now  for  your  hospitality  and 
the  honor  done  me  by  your  invitation  and  say 
that  I  shall  have  to  leave  on  the  ten  o'clock 
train  to-morrow  morning." 

With  regal  scorn  expressed  in  every  line 
of  her  body,  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  rose  from  her 
chair.  "  Very  well,  Miss  Carrington,  I  bid 
you  good  night." 

Jane,  left  alone  on  the  veranda,  welcomed 
74 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

the  cool  night  breeze  that  fanned  her  burning 
cheeks.  She  was  leaning  against  one  of  the 
colonial  pillars  and  facing  the  garden  when 
the  tall  figure  of  Darenbeck  loomed  up  in  the 
path. 

"  So,"  he  said  cheerily,  as  he  perceived  Jane, 
"alone  out  here  —  how  does  that  come?" 

The  voice  held  frank  equality,  frank  friend- 
liness. That  she  was  rich  and  he  was  poor 
made  no  difference  now  to  Darenbeck;  that 
she  was  of  the  inner  circle  and  he,  at  present, 
only  a  sort  of  superior  servant  mattered  not 
a  whit.  He  and  she  met  on  the  level  of  plain 
human  beings,  a  level  on  which  he,  as  the 
stronger  artist,  held  the  advantage;  and  he 
spoke  to  her  as  he  might  to  a  daughter. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  replied  Jane.  '  Tell  me 
where  you  have  been." 

"  Every  one  was  at  the  ball  and  I  was  not 
needed,  so  I  made  a  pleasure-walk  in  the  woods. 
It  is  still  there  at  night,  and  yet  is  not  still. 
I  have  made  me  a  harmony  of  what  I  heard  — 

75 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

in  minor;  ach!  soft,  little  light  voices  em- 
broidered on  the  darkness  of  the  night.  To- 
morrow I  play  it  for  you  on  my  violin." 

"  I  am  going  away  to-morrow  and  you  won't 
see  me  again  for  a  long  time." 

"  Wirklich  ?  You  go  away  ?  Your  sister, 
too?" 

"  No,  she  will  stay.  I  received  word  to  come 
home.  I  am  wanted  there." 

"  So !  The  father  and  mother  —  nicht 
wahr?" 

The  door  opened  and  Scribner,  smoking  a 
cigarette,  sauntered  out  of  the  house  and  ad- 
vanced towards  them  without  hesitation. 

"Hope  I  am  not  de  trop?"  he  remarked 
airily,  but  Jane  did  not  reply. 

"  Rather  cold  out  here,  is  n't  it,  Mr.  Daren- 
beck?"  he  continued,  apparently  not  noticing 
her  silence.  Jane  stirred. 

"  Perhaps  only  you  find  it  so,"  she  said. 

Scribner  smiled  quizzically  and  showed  the 
scarf  over  his  arm.  "  I  see  that  Mrs.  Van 

76 


THE   VALLEY   OF    INDECISION 

Mueller  vanished.  Perhaps  she  decided  it 
would  be  too  chilly,  even  with  this.  And  by 
the  way,  Mr.  Darenbeck,"  he  added,  turning 
to  the  musician  who  had  not  spoken,  "  I  be- 
lieve she  was  asking  for  you  a  little  while 
ago." 

"Yes?"     He  turned  to  go. 

"  She  has  retired,"  put  in  Jane  dryly,  and 
Darenbeck  reseated  himself  on  the  veranda- 
coping. 

"  It  is  rather  late,"  agreed  Walter  pleasantly. 
"  Rather  late  for  you,  too,  is  n't  it,  Mr.  Daren- 
beck?  I  hear  our  merry  party  coming  down 
the  drive." 

In  truth  there  were  sounds  of  laughter  and 
song  among  the  trees,  and  Jane  recognized  the 
strains  of  the  objectionable  "  Mysterious  Rag." 
Their  voices  seemed  to  strike  the  musician 
with  something  resembling  terror,  for  he  got 
himself  out  of  sight  without  delay,  booming 
unintelligible  German. 

He  had  scarcely  moved  two  steps  in  the  big 
77 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

hall  when  Scribner  bent  down  dangerously  near 
Jane. 

"  May  I  put  this  shawl  around  your  shoul- 
ders?" 

He  was  between  her  and  escape,  and  there 
was  an  unpleasant  triumph  in  his  voice.  But 
the  coping  was  low,  and  before  he  could  move 
further  Jane  put  a  hand  on  the  railing  and 
vaulted  it  to  the  ground,  leaving  him  standing 
with  the  shawl  in  his  outstretched  hands. 

"Hi,  there,  Jane!  What's  the  athletic 
event  ?  "  shouted  Harry  Summers,  foremost  of 
the  party.  '  Why  did  you  and  Scribie  go  off 
in  the  middle  of  the  dance  ?  How  'd  you  get 
home?  Is  there  anything  to  eat  on  that 
veranda  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  veranda,"  called 
back  Jane,  trying  to  make  her  voice  sound 
natural,  "  but  I  '11  race  you  all  to  the  dining- 
room.  I  think  there  are  sandwiches  there." 

With  the  word,  Harry  and  three  or  four 
of  the  returning  group  set  off  with  her  in  a 

78 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

laughing  scramble.  The  situation  was  saved 
and  Scribner  discreetly  disappeared,  cursing 
Jane's  athletic  propensities  and  his  own  bad 
luck. 

When  at  last  the  midnight  luncheon  was 
eaten  and  the  Carrington  girls  were  alone  in 
their  rooms,  Leslie  could  keep  silent  no  longer. 

"  Oh,  Jane,  —  did  —  did  he?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  admitted  Jane. 

Leslie  stared  at  her,  a  trifle  aggrieved  at  her 
brevity. 

"  Well,  you  don't  look  like  a  blushing  bride. 
What  are  you  so  sober  about  ?  Are  n't  you 
glad  you  've  accepted  him  ?  " 

Jane  did  not  reply  for  a  moment  but  slowly 
continued  to  take  out  her  hairpins,  looking 
mechanically  in  the  mirror.  And  then  sud- 
denly, unreasoningly,  her  control  gave  way, 
and  before  the  astonished  Leslie  could  realize 
what  was  happening  she  had  tumbled  herself 
down  among  the  dainty  toilet  accessories  and, 
hiding  her  face  in  her  arms,  burst  into  the  fit 

79 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

of  nervous  tears  she  had  pent  up  for  the  last 
two  hours. 

"  I  have  n't  accepted  him,"  she  sobbed  in- 
dignantly ;  "  I  have  n't  accepted  him.  I  've  re- 
fused him,  and  I  'm  glad  of  it  —  I  'm  glad,  I  'm 
glad.  I  '11  never  marry  him  as  long  as  I  live, 
I  don't  care  what  anybody  says,  and  for  mercy's 
sake  don't  talk  to  me  about  it  now,  for  I  can't 
stand  another  featherweight !  " 

Leslie's  pretty  mouth  dropped  open  and  her 
round  eyes  grew  even  rounder  with  amaze- 
ment. Jane  —  refuse  Scribner!  Jane  —  de- 
liberately wreck  the  work  of  the  whole  season ! 
Jane  —  put  her  head  down  on  the  dressing- 
table  and  cry  like  an  hysterical  boarding-school 
girl!  It  was  unbelievable. 

"Why,  Jane!"  she  said  weakly.  "Why, 
Jane !  How  could  you  ?  " 

Jane  lifted  her  head  and  faced  Leslie.  She 
was  ready  at  that  moment  to  defy  the  whole 
family  and  anybody  else  that  ventured  to  cross 
her  path. 

80 


THE   VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 

"What  difference  does  it  make  to  you?" 
she  demanded,  and  Leslie  shrank  back. 

"  Oh,  Janie,  don't  look  at  me  like  that,"  she 
quavered.  "  Only  mother  was  so  anxious  for 
it  to  happen  and  she  '11  be  so  disappointed, 
and  —  and  —  I  gave  him  up  to  you,  anyway. 
Please  don't  look  at  me  like  that." 

"You  gave  him  up  to  me?  What  do  you 
mean?  " 

'''  Well,  you  know  how  interested  he  was  in 
me  last  winter,  and  I  had  an  awfully  good 
time  with  him.  But  I  'm  not  so  clever  as  you, 
and  I  knew  mamma  wanted  you  to  marry  him, 
so  I  —  I  —  I  just  gave  him  up  for  —  for  the 
good  of  the  family." 

Leslie  was  crying  now,  her  pretty  head 
buried  among  the  fluffy  rose  cushions  of  the 
big  chair,  and  Jane  was  suddenly  smitten  by 
the  sight.  Leslie,  at  least,  was  not  against 
her,  and  it  was  not  fair  to  wreak  her  wrath 
on  her  little  sister.  She  mopped  her  eyes  im- 
patiently and  went  over  to  take  Leslie  in  her 

81 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

arms.  The  little  girl  cuddled  her  head  in- 
stantly into  the  hollow  of  Jane's  shoulder  and 
clung  like  a  burr. 

"  There,  there,  dearie,"  said  Jane  comfort- 
ingly. "  I  was  wrong  and  I  'm  sorry.  Don't 
cry  so,  honey  —  please  don't.  You  can  marry 
Scribner,  now  I  'm  out  of  the  field,  if  you 
want  to.  Truly  I  'm  sorry,  dear." 

Leslie  emerged  from  her  seclusion  with  a 
little  gulp  and  put  up  her  mouth  in  token  of 
forgiveness. 

"  But,  Jane,"  she  said,  "  what  are  you  going 
to  do  now  ?  You  are  n't  going  to  be  an  old 
maid,  are  you  ?  Are  n't  you  ever  going  to  fall 
in  love  with  anybody?" 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret  if  I  tell  you?  "  asked 
Jane,  pushing  back  Leslie's  tumbled  curls. 

"Can  I?    I'll  never  tell  a  soul." 

'''  Well,  then,  this  winter  I  'm  going  on  the 
stage." 

"  Oh !  "  gasped  Leslie  helplessly.     "  Oh !  " 


82 


CHAPTER   IV 

Mrs.  Carrington  was  lunching  alone,  in 
state.  The  Carrington  house  was  the  sort  that 
the  word  "mansion"  suited  —  dark,  ugly,  ex- 
pensive, with  an  air  of  weight  and  solidity 
and  the  stamp  of  the  early  nineties  in  its  stone 
turret  and  coping.  Half  a  mile  inland  the 
crowded  tenements  west  of  North  Clark  Street 
reeked  to  heaven  of  dirt  and  drink,  and  the 
half-clad  babies  panted  on  back  porches,  but 
here  the  long  sweep  of  the  Drive  spread  out 
in  cool  greenness,  and  through  gaps  in  the 
vine-screened  piazza  the  dazzling  blue  of  the 
lake,  laced  with  white-caps  and  dashed  with 
silver  sails,  could  be  seen  by  the  queenly  lady 
when  she  cared  to  raise  her  eyes. 

But  Mrs.  Carrington  was  as  unconcerned 
with  the  lake  as  she  was  with  the  dirty  babies. 
Had  any  one  called  her  attention  to  it  in  any 

83 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

of  its  aspects  as  playground,  picture,  battle- 
field or  highway  of  the  merchant-marine,  she 
would  have  given  it  a  polite  glance,  said 
"  Ah,  yes,  very  interesting,"  and  instantly  re- 
turned to  the  serious  business  of  life.  Just 
now  a  neatly  typewritten  list  of  names  propped 
up  against  a  brass  bowl  of  nasturtiums  occu- 
pied her  entire  consideration,  and  she  calcu- 
lated the  pros  and  cons  of  each  one  with  the 
serious  face  of  a  general  planning  a  coup. 
When  she  looked  up,  at  the  sound  of  a  foot- 
step, and  found  Jane  coming  up  the  cool  vista 
of  the  lawn,  she  nearly  upset  her  glass  of  iced 
tea  in  her  surprise. 

"  My  dear !  "  she  said,  "  why  in  the  world 
did  you  come  home?" 

Jane  came  over  to  the  table,  watching  the 
butler  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  and  sank 
down  in  a  wicker  chair. 

"  Oh,  it  was  getting  too  warm  at  Fairview," 
she  said  carelessly.  "  May  I  have  some  bouil- 
lon —  I  'm  desperately  hungry." 

84 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

"  Andre,  serve  Miss  Carrington,"  com- 
manded the  elder  woman,  and  then  returned 
to  Jane. 

"  It  has  been  quite  comfortable  here,"  she 
pursued.  "  I  am  planning  a  house-party  at 
our  farm  in  August.  What  do  you  think  of 
this  list?" 

Jane  picked  it  up,  and  the  first  name  that 
caught  her  eye  was  that  of  Walter  Scribner 
at  the  head  of  the  men's  list.  The  sight  of  it 
made  her  impatient,  but  she  continued  to  look 
at  the  paper  until  the  butler  had  left  the  room. 
Then,  leaning  her  arm  upon  the  table,  she 
looked  hard  at  the  nasturtiums  before  her  and 
said  slowly: 

"  I  'd  rather  not  have  Walter  Scribner." 

"Has  he  — "  Mrs.  Carrington  began 
eagerly. 

'  Yes.  Last  night.  That  is  why  I  came 
home." 

"He  actually  proposed  to  you?  Oh,  my 
dear,  how  happy  I  am ! " 

85 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Please  wait.     I  refused  him." 

"  Refused !  "  Mrs.  Carrington  stared  at  her 
daughter  for  a  moment  and  then  rose  to  her 
feet  in  uncontrollable  vexation.  '  You  mean 
to  tell  me  that  you  have  actually  refused 
Walter  Scribner?  What  are  you  thinking 
of?" 

Jane  sat  silent,  a  stubborn  expression  on  her 
face,  and  Mrs.  Carrington,  laying  aside  her 
dignity,  walked  impatiently  up  and  down  the 
rug. 

'  Jane,  you  are  a  fool !  "  she  burst  out.  "  I 
have  permitted  you  to  have  your  own  way  too 
often,  overlooked  your  escapades  because  they 
gave  you  a  certain  popularity,  let  you  fool  with 
art  and  music  and  such  stuff  altogether  too 
much,  when  you  needed  to  be  spanked  with 
a  slipper  and  taught  the  rudiments  of  common 
sense.  Now  this  is  the  last  straw.  You  must 
marry  Walter  Scribner,  if  you  have  to  go  on 
your  knees  to  him  and  ask  him  to  do  it." 

Jane  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  a  sigh. 
86 


THE    VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

Once  this  tempest  had  spent  itself,  her  mother 
would  be  more  tractable.  She  disliked  scenes. 
After  a  few  minutes  of  tirade,  Mrs.  Carring- 
ton  weakly  sank  into  a  chair  and  began  to 
cry  into  a  dainty  handkerchief. 

'  There  never  was  such  an  undutiful  daugh- 
ter," she  sobbed.  "  I  don't  see  what  use  it  is 
to  bring  children  into  the  world  to  have  them 
defy  you.  I  've  planned  all  your  life  on  your 
making  a  good  match  and  being  a  credit  to 
the  family  and  you  've  simply  thrown  away 
all  your  chances.  You  are  n't  a  debutante  any 
longer,  and  before  you  know  it  you" '11  be 
passee.  Oh,  dear!  It  would  be  a  great  deal 
more  pleasure  never  to  have  had  a  daughter !  " 

Her  grief  touched  Jane.  After  all,  it  was 
hard  to  have  one's  ambition  disappointed  so 
keenly.  She  went  over  and  put  her  hand  on 
her  mother's  shoulder. 

"  I  'm  not  willfully  trying  to  thwart  you, 
mother,"  she  said  gently.  "  I  'm  sorry  you 
take  it  so  hard,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  Ve  been 

87 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

trying  to  persuade  myself  all  winter  that  I 
could  marry  Walter  Scribner,  but  when  it 
comes  to  the  point  I  simply  can't  endure  the 
thought  of  it.  You  have  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  he  asked  me,  at  any  rate  — 
isn't  that  something?  Leslie  will  be  more  of 
a  comfort  to  you  than  I  ever  could  be ;  she  '11 
marry  successfully  and  be  the  society  leader 
of  the  family ;  but  I  —  must  go  on  the  stage. 
I  'm  made  that  way,  mother,  and  I  can't  marry 
for  an  establishment  and  be  happy." 

Mrs.  Carrington  drew  frigidly  away  from 
Jane's  unaccustomed  caress. 

"  You  are  overwrought,"  she  said.  "  They 
have  been  wearing  you  out  at  Fairview,  and 
it  is  quite  time  that  you  came  home  for  a  rest. 
And  may  I  ask  how  you  managed  to  come 
away  from  Mrs.  Van  Mueller's  without  excit- 
ing comment  ?  " 

"  I  said  you  had  telegraphed  for  me,  but  it 
was  n't  entirely  on  account  of  Walter  that  I 
came  away.  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  was  displeased 

88 


THE   VALLEY,   OF    INDECISION 

with  me  for  talking  to  a  musician  they  had 
there.  She  threatened  to  dismiss  him,  and  I 
told  her  I  would  save  her  that  trouble  by 
going  away  myself." 

Mrs.  Carrington  raised  her  eyebrows  in  fur- 
ther displeasure  and  regarded  Jane .  sternly. 

"  You  will  write  a  letter  of  apology  at 
once." 

"  I  can't  do  that,  mother." 

"  Did  you  hear  what  I  said,  Jane  ?  " 
'  Yes,  but  I  was  morally  right  in  doing  as 
I  did.    I  was  not  willing  to  have  a  poor  man's 
earnings  sacrificed  on  my  account.    Mrs.  Van 
Mueller  and  I  are  no  longer  friends." 

"  She  will  send  Leslie  home." 

"  Oh,  no.  Leslie  is  sufficiently  conventional 
to  please  her.  It  is  an  affair  entirely  between 
us  two." 

"  She  will  blue-pencil  you  from  her  list." 

"  Probably ;  but  I  shall  not  be  here  to  re- 
gret it.  Next  winter,  if  I  am  successful,  will 
see  me  on  the  stage." 

89 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Mrs.  Carrington  made  a  gesture  of  com- 
plete exasperation. 

"  This  is  insufferable,"  she  said  curtly.  "  Go 
away  —  to  your  room  —  anywhere.  I  don't 
want  to  see  you  again  to-day.  You  have  dis- 
pleased me  beyond  words,  and  I  shall  talk  to 
your  father  this  evening." 

Mr.  Carrington  did  not  share  his  wife's 
vexation.  With  masculine  indifference  to 
trifles,  he  passed  over  the  much-elaborated 
breach  with  Mrs.  Van  Mueller,  and  the  un- 
conventionality  of  Jane's  behavior.  Even  her 
refusal  of  Scribner  he  did  not  take  greatly 
to  heart. 

"  Scribner  is  n't  worth  much,"  he  commented 
shortly.  "  I  'd  rather  see  her  married  to  some 
man  who  had  less  millinery  and  more  horse- 
sense  —  somebody  like  young  Braddock  of 
Braddock  &  Braddock.  He  can  put  over  a 
deal  as  well  as  the  old  man,  and  he  '11  be  a 
big  fellow  one  of  these  days.  Why  does  n't 
he  ever  come  to  your  parties?" 

90 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

Jane  did  not  give  her  mother  time  to  reply, 
and  that  lady,  having  laid  the  situation  before 
her  husband,  diplomatically  withdrew.  It  was 
recognized  in  the  Carrington  household  that 
only  father  could  manage  Jane. 

"  None  of  the  men  worth  while  ever  spend 
time  on  our  sort  of  society,"  she  said,  as  Mrs. 
Carrington  moved  away.  "  They  're  all  either 
too  tired  at  night,  or  else  they  don't  like  to 
waste  time  on  such  trivialities.  If  I  knew  some 
of  the  men  you  do,  daddy,  I  might  fall  in 
love  with  one  of  them.  But  I  have  n't  any 
patience  with  these  perfect  Apollos  who  walk 
around  picking  up  handkerchiefs  and  handing 
teacups." 

'  You  ought  to  have  been  a  boy,  Janie," 
said  her  father  with  a  sort  of  gruff  wistful- 
ness.  '  Then  it  would  have  been  Carrington 
&  Carrington  —  what  ?  I  picked  out  the  place 
where  I  'd  paint  in  that  sign,  years  ago  —  on 
the  west  wall  of  the  plant,  facing  the  North- 
western tracks." 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Jane  perched  herself  on  the  arm  of  her 
father's  chair  and  rumpled  his  thick  white  hair 
affectionately.  She  had  always  had  much 
more  in  common  with  the  straight-shouldered, 
silent,  successful  man  than  with  her  mother. 

She  never  f rivoled  or  posed  with  her  father, 
and  as  far  back  as  she  could  remember  had 
never  disobeyed  him.  Even  in  her  sailor-suit 
days  they  had  been  chums,  and  many  were 
the  times  they  had  eluded  Mrs.  Carrington's 
watchful  eyes  to  go  on  hilarious  excursions  in 
his  own  buggy  that  even  now  Mr.  Carrington 
would  not  displace  by  an  automobile.  Jane 
knew  the  Carrington  Plow  Works  from  boiler- 
room  to  roof,  as  neither  Mrs.  Carrington  nor 
Leslie  knew  them;  and  understood  her  father 
as  he  understood  her.  So  there  was  no  need 
for  subterfuge  between  them,  and  once  Mrs. 
Carrington  was  out  of  the  room,  Jane  dropped 
into  direct  talk  and  ceased  to  stick  out  hostile 
quills. 

"  I  wish  I  had,"  she  said  soberly.     "  We  'd 
92 


THE   VALLEY   OF    INDECISION 

have  run  the  Carrington  plows  straight 
through  America.  It 's  no  use  talking,  daddy, 
I  've  got  the  business  microbe  in  my  blood, 
and  that 's  why  I  want  to  go  on  the  stage. 
It 's  the  only  business  I  'm  fitted  for,  and  I 
know  I  could  make  good  in  it." 

Mr.  Carrington  moved  uneasily. 

"  You  'd  better  forget  about  that,"  he  re- 
monstrated. "  I  can't  have  you  doing  anything 
of  that  sort.  If  it  were  plows,  and  you  were 
a  man,  it  would  be  a  different  matter.  But 
the  stage  is  n't  —  why,  daughter,  it  is  n't  re- 
spectable ;  it's  a  business  no  good  woman 
should  be  in.  You  must  consider  the  family's 
feelings,  your  mother's  opinion,  Leslie's 
future." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Jane  soberly.  "  That  has 
kept  me  back  for  years,  and  made  me  spend 
myself  on  something  that  I  knew  was  super- 
ficial and  worthless.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  ac- 
complish something  worth  while !  I  wish  I  'd 
been  born  poor.  I  'd  have  had  to  work  for 

93 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

my  living  then  and  you  'd  have  let  me  go  on 
the  stage,  as  I  wanted  to  do.  Please,  daddy, 
let  me.  You  don't  want  me  to  be  a  miserable, 
sour,  discontented  old  maid,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  'd  rather  have  you  that  than  a  failure." 

"  But  I  won't  fail  —  I  know  I  won't.  I  'm 
not  afraid  of  the  hard  work  and  the  all-night 
rehearsals  and  the  bad  accommodations  and 
the  struggling  period.  I  can  endure  and  work 
until  I  win.  Anyway,  even  failure  would  be 
better  than  deliberately  killing  myself  by 
inches,  as  I  'm  doing  here." 

'  That  is  extravagant  talk.  You  would  n't 
be  killing  yourself  by  inches  if  you  stayed  at 
home  like  a  sensible  girl  and  married  some 
decent  man  as  your  mother  wants  you  to  do." 

"  I  would,  I  would,"  insisted  Jane.  "  I  can't 
stand  it  any  longer.  If  you  love  me,  daddy, 
if  you  want  me  to  be  happy  at  all,  you  will 
take  me  to  a  manager  and  help  me  with  your 
influence.  You  could  make  it  so  much  easier 
for  me  than  it  will  be  if  I  have  to  make  my 

94 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

way  alone.  You  know  I  love  you  and  would 
do  anything  for  you  —  won't  you  do  this  much 
for  me?  Dear  daddy,  I  want  it  so!" 

His  world's  opinion  had  come  to  mean 
more  to  him  than  he  would  admit,  but  for  a 
moment  he  hesitated.  Then,  decisively,  he 
unclasped  Jane's  arms  from  about  his  neck 
and  stood  up. 

"  No,  Jane,"  he  said  with  finality  in  his 
voice.  "  We  '11  have  no  more  of  this  talk. 
You  cannot  go  on  the  stage,  and  that  ends  it. 
Never  mention  the  subject  again  in  my 
hearing." 

Jane  stood  facing  him,  her  cheeks  burning, 
her  eyes  bright. 

"  Then  I  '11  go  alone." 

"  And  break  our  hearts?  " 

The  conventional  phrase  sounded  curiously 
on  her  father's  lips.  Jane  had  read  it  in 
novels  and  smiled  over  it;  but  spoken  in  that 
dry,  choked  tone,  it  rang  unexpectedly  true, 
unexpectedly  moving.  Mr.  Carrington  put  his 

95 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

hand  on  her  shoulder  and  drew  her  close  to 
him. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said  gently,  "  it  is  a 
solemn  truth  that  I  'd  rather  see  you  dead 
than  on  the  stage.  Can  you  not  give  up  this 
preposterous  notion  for  the  sake  of  your  mother 
and  me? " 

Jane  felt  something  moist  on  her  cheek  — 
not  her  own  tears,  for  she  was  dry-eyed.  She 
swayed  as  if  she  had  been  physically  struck; 
sick  at  heart,  she  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  father,"  she  said  brokenly.  "  If  you 
want  it  as  much  as  that  I  '11  —  give  it  up." 

There  was  nothing  left  for  her  to  do  but 
turn  to  Scribner.  One  refusal  had  only  put 
him  on  his  mettle,  and  he  systematically  laid 
siege  to  Jane. 

"  You  might  as  well  give  in,"  he  said  to 
her  one  bright  afternoon  as  a  party  of  them 
were  having  tea  on  the  lawn.  His  remark 

seemed   casual,    but   he   looked    at   her   very 

96 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

steadily.  Jane  lowered  her  lashes  and  flushed, 
setting  down  her  half-raised  cup  as  if  suddenly 
unable  to  swallow. 

"  I  suppose  I  might,"  she  said  wearily,  "  I 
suppose  I  —  Well,  yes,  then." 

Scribner  put  his  hand  on  hers  —  and  then 
suddenly,  without  reason,  there  flashed  into 
Jane's  mind  the  picture  of  Bryce  Gordon  as  he 
had  talked  with  her  on  the  night  of  the  play. 
He  had  spoken  of  the  inevitability  of  fate. 
She  drew  away  her  hand.  If  a  strong  man 
could  bow  to  such  a  philosophy,  what  chance 
had  such  a  slip  of  a  girl  as  she  to  overcome 
it?  Perhaps  after  all  Darenbeck  was  only  a 
sentimental  dreamer,  and  perhaps  Gordon, 
with  all  the  rest  of  her  older  friends,  was 
right.  She  glanced  at  Scribner,  complacent 
in  his  white  flannels,  sipping  his  tea,  and 
sighed.  Presently,  pleading  a  headache,  she 
disappeared  into  the  house.  Scribner  was  too 
tactful  to  press  himself  on  her,  but  he  went 
away  quite  content  with  his  victory.  After 

97 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

marriage  it  would  be  time  enough  to  break 
Jane  in. 

During  the  period  of  their  engagement  Jane 
led  Scribner  a  dance  with  all  the  figures  that 
her  inventive  imagination  could  devise.  Being 
engaged  to  a  man  of  his  stamp  was  not  a 
sweetening  tonic  to  the  soul.  Although  he  was 
suave  enough  not  to  forget  himself,  Jane's 
intuitions  were  too  unerring  to  miss  certain 
repulsive  presentiments;  and  she  shrank  from 
him,  parrying  skillfully,  evading,  making  her 
reserve  appear  to  be  preoccupation  with  the 
social  obligations  that  followed  the  announce- 
ment of  their  engagement.  She  managed  to 
keep  him  at  a  distance,  never  to  see  him  alone, 
never  for  an  instant  to  allow  the  mask  of  so- 
cial politeness  to  drop  from  either  of  their 
faces.  Walter  wanted  an  autumn  wedding, 
but  Jane  found  excuse  after  excuse  for  delay, 
putting  him  off  with  vague  replies.  But  when 
December  came  she  had  taxed  her  ingenuity 
to  the  utmost  and  was  no  longer  careful  of 

98 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

her  circumventions.  Frankly  and  openly  she 
was  hard  as  nails,  and  more  bizarre  than 
ever. 

Mrs.  Van  Mueller  noted  this  new  hardness 
and  commented  on  it  when  she  came  to  the 
Carrington  Christmas  ball.  She  had  paid  no 
attention  to  Jane  since  the  unfortunate  in- 
cident at  her  country  home,  although  she  had 
associated  quite  amicably  with  the  rest  of  the 
Carrington  family.  As  the  months  had  slipped 
by  without  bringing  any  apology  from  Jane, 
Mrs.  Van  Mueller  began  to  have  some  admira- 
tion for  the  girl  who  had  the  courage  of  her 
convictions  and  a  pride  that  forbade  her  mak- 
ing concessions  as  payment  for  social  patron- 
age. She  watched  her  now  as  she  circled  about 
the  ballroom,  sparkling,  feverishly  gay.  Her 
gown,  embroidered  in  gold,  shimmered  with 
every  move  she  made,  a  diamond  star  nestled 
in  her  hair  and  a  pearl  necklace  lay  about  her 
throat.  She  wore  a  cluster  of  American  Beau- 
ties, their  rich  color  reflecting  a  glowing 

99 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

warmth  to  her  cheeks,  and  her  red  lips  curved 
with  the  insolence  of  recognized  leadership. 

"  I  think  she  has  lost  a  great  portion  of  her 
beauty,"  remarked  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  quietly 
to  a  woman  who  had  just  remarked  upon  Jane's 
gorgeous  appearance. 

"  Do  you  really?  I  never  used  to  think  her 
good-looking  at  all,  but  she  has  so  much  dash, 
vivacity  and  recklessness  now  that  I  am  as 
much  fascinated  as  the  men.  They  cannot  keep 
away  from  her  even  though  she  is  engaged. 
Look  at  Walter  Scribner  —  poor  fellow  —  he 
is  positively  on  the  very  outside  of  the 
circle." 

"  She  is  extreme,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Mueller 
curtly,  as  she  walked  away. 

Walter  had  jealousy  written  in  every  line 
of  his  face  as  he  made  his  way  through  the 
group  and  took  Jane's  gold  fan  from  her. 

'  This  dance  is  mine,"  he  said. 

"Is  it?"  she  asked  coolly  of  Harry,  who 
stood  nearest  to  her.  "  Harry  is  taking  care 


100 


THE   VALLEY    OF   INDECISION 

of  my  card  for  me.     Does  the  dance  belong 
to  Mr.  Scribner?" 

Reassured  that  it  did,  she  laughed  a  "  fare- 
well," picked  up  her  train,  exposed  a  pair  of 
exquisite  slippers  and  waltzed  away  on  Scrib- 
ner's  arm. 

"  You  need  n't  be  such  a  bear  about  it,"  she 
said  petulantly,  under  cover  of  the  music,  as 
he  guided  her  in  and  out  among  the  whirling 
couples. 

"  You  forget  that  this  is  only  the  second 
dance  I  have  had  with  you  this  evening." 

"Well,  what  of  it,  mon  cher  fiance?"  she 
inquired.  "  Have  n't  you  been  able  to  select 
enough  pretty  girls  to  fill  out  your  program? 
You  can't  expect  me  to  bore  myself  with  you 
every  dance ;  the  first  and  the  last  before  mid- 
night, that  is  the  very  least  convention  will 
permit  me  to  give  you.  As  long  as  I  am 
within  the  pale,  why  do  you  complain  ?  " 

"  I  sent  you  orchids  and  you  wear  roses. 
Why?" 

101 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Suit  my  complexion  better." 

"  Who  gave  them  to  you  ?  " 

Her  answer  was  frivolous. 

Walter  said  something  between  his  teeth. 

"  Did  you  see  the  long  article  and  my  pic- 
ture in  the  paper  this  morning?  "  she  asked 
finally. 

"  Yes." 

"  '  Audacious  and  reckless  rider,'  was  good, 
was  n't  it?  Did  n't  it  amuse  you?  " 

'  You  will  succeed  some  day  in  breaking 
your  neck  in  your  desperate  rides.  You  are 
desperate  in  everything  you  do." 

"  Ah,  perhaps  I  am.  But,  my  dear,  if  you 
want  to  make  me  a  present,  bring  me,  instead 
of  your  orchids,  —  which  are  becoming  very 
tiresome,  —  two  jeweled  rosettes  for  my  horse." 

"  Where  can  I  get  them?  " 

"  Have  them  made.  It  will  give  you  some- 
thing to  think  about  for  a  few  days,  and  it  is 
time  for  me  to  create  a  new  fashion;  things 

are  getting  stupid.     Even  father  is  beginning 

1 02 


THE    VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

to  disapprove  of  my  extravagance  —  says 
every  one  is  talking  about  my  extraordinary 
ways  of  doing  things.  He  says  the  wedding 
will  have  to  be  in  keeping." 

"  By  all  means !  "  exclaimed  Walter.  "  It 's 
got  to  be  the  biggest  affair  of  next  season." 

"  It  certainly  will  be.  I  want  them  to  say 
that  no  wedding  was  ever  so  big,  so  costly, 
so  magnificent,  and  no  bride  so  gorgeously 
gowned.  I  want  the  same  thing  said  of  my 
funeral." 

"  After  the  wedding  we  will  take  a  trip  to 
Europe  and  —  " 

She  cut  him  off  sharply.  "  I  have  n't  time 
to  think  so  far  ahead;  and,  before  I  forget  it, 
I  expect  you  to  escort  me  to  the  Coppet  dinner 
to-morrow  night,  and  from  there  to  Julia's 
ball." 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  had  declined." 

''  I  accept  everything." 
'  You  are  never  at  home.     I  have  not  had 
a  talk  with  you  for  weeks  that  has  not  been 

103 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

caught  on  the  wing  while  dancing  or  driving 
rapidly  from  one  function  to  another.  How 
can  you  stand  it?  " 

"  I  love  it ! "  she  said  with  closed  teeth. 

"  More  than  you  do  me?  " 

"  More  than  I  love  you."  She  tore  her 
fan  from  his  hand.  "  Now  stop,  I  Ve  danced 
enough  and  I  'm  tired.  Give  me  some  punch." 

Mrs.  Van  Mueller  had  made  her  way  to 
Mrs.  Carrington's  side. 

"  Jane  has  changed  a  great  deal,"  she  said 
quietly.  "  I  have  not  approved  of  the  remarks 
people  have  been  making  about  her  reckless- 
ness, though  she  was  very  wise  to  accept 
Scribner." 

"  I  must  apologize  again,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Carrington  sweetly,  "  for  her  rudeness  this 
summer.  I  cannot  make  her  speak  to  you 
about  it." 

"  There  is  no  need.    I  hope  she  is  happy." 

"  Since  her  engagement  she  has  changed  for 

the  better  in  everything." 

104 


"  Do  you  call  this  better?  "  Mrs.  Van  Muel- 
ler asked,  but  Mrs.  Carrington  saw  no  signifi- 
cance in  the  remark. 

"  She  has  entirely  forgotten  her  theatrical 
notions.  The  subject  is  no  longer  mentioned, 
and  she  is  in  her  proper  sphere  at  last." 

"  Undoubtedly." 

Mrs.  Van  Mueller  walked  towards  the 
group  about  the  punch  table.  The  young 
people  parted  like  weeds  before  the  wind  to 
let  her  pass;  but  there  was  one  who  did  not 
step  aside,  did  not  ever  so  slightly  bend  her 
head  or  flicker  an  eyelash.  Jane  Carrington's 
dark  eyes  were  busy  with  the  dresses  of  some 
women  in  the  big  ballroom;  they  did  not  no- 
tice anything  in  a  nearer  range  until  she  actu- 
ally heard  herself  addressed.  Then  a  smile 
tugged  at  her  lips. 

"  Miss  Carrington,  I  would  like  to  speak  to 
you." 

"  Mrs.  Van  Mueller,"  said  Jane. 

The  elder  woman  halted,  as  if  the  girl's  at- 
105 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

titude  had  frozen  the  words  on  her  lips.     She 
.  waited,  toying  with  her  lorgnette. 

"  Before  the  old  year  goes,  Jane,  I  came  to 
—  tell  you  that  —  I  like  your  spirit." 

She  waited.    The  smile  died  on  Jane's  lips. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said  with  dignity. 

"  I  also  came  to  say  that  Margaret  and  I 
leave  for  Europe  on  the  seventh,  and  that  I 
shall  be  glad  to  have  you  accompany  us,  if 
your  parents  will  permit.  You  can  buy  your 
trousseau  in  Paris.  Will  you  go?" 

Jane's  eyes  lighted  up.  She  laughed  almost 
hysterically. 

"  Will  I  go?    With  all  my  heart." 

Mrs.  Van  Mueller  turned,  as  if  her  effort 
to  speak  first  had  been  a  wrench;  and  Leslie, 
who  had  managed  to  catch  the  trend  of  the 
conversation  without  appearing  to  listen,  has- 
tened to  Jane's  side. 

"  That 's  bully  of  her,"  she  whispered 
quickly.  "  You  go  along,  Jane,  and  if  there 
are  any  counts  hanging  around  Margaret, 

1 06 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

shove  them  off  and  make  them  fall  in  love 
with  you." 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  Jane's  manner  was  a  little  wild. 
"  I  'm  going  in  for  breaking  hearts.  If  I 
have  a  chance,  maybe  I  '11  marry  a  prince. 
Just  watch  me." 

The  New  Year  was  drawing  very  near  when 
fate  again  took  a  hand  on  the  chessboard  and 
brought  that  unreckoned-on  pawn,  Ludwig 
Darenbeck,  across  Jane's  path.  He  came  to 
the  Carrington  mansion  the  day  before  Jane 
was  to  leave  for  her  European  trip,  a  big, 
shabby,  uncouth  figure,  at  which  the  maid 
looked  askance  when  she  left  him  to  wait  in 
the  reception-room  and  carried  his  name  to 
her  mistress,  where  she  was  overseeing  the 
packing  of  a  wilderness  of  trunks. 

Jane  read  the  card,  and  went  swiftly  to  meet 
him,  memory  tugging  at  her  heart.  He  rose 
to  greet  her  with  hand  outstretched,  a  roll  of 

paper  under  one  rough-clad  arm. 

107 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  It  is  you,  Fraulein ! "  he  said  warmly. 
"  Ach,  this  does  the  heart  good !  I  read  in  the 
paper  that  you  sail  for  the  Old  Country,  and 
I  must  see  you  before  you  go.  So  I  come, 
and  the  maid  she  wonder  if  I  go  to  steal  the 
spoons !  "  He  laughed  with  the  frank  amuse- 
ment of  a  boy,  still  holding  Jane's  hands  in 
his  grip. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  again,  Mr. 
Darenbeck,"  smiled  Jane  easily.  "  It  has  been 
a  long  time  since  we  talked  Schubert,  has  n't 
it  ?  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  " 

The  musician  dropped  her  hands,  and  some 
of  the  warmth  faded  from  his  face.  Jane's 
society  manner  was  not  intentional,  and  she 
did  not  realize  how  different  it  was  from  her 
frank  friendliness  of  the  summer.  So,  per- 
ceiving his  sudden  embarrassment  without  un- 
derstanding its  cause,  she  rattled  gayly  along 
to  fill  the  pause.  She  had  passed  from  the 
beauty  of  the  snow  and  the  coldness  of  the 
day  to  an  expatiation  on  the  pleasure  of  skat- 

108 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

ing  when  Darenbeck  brought  his  fist  down  with 
a  bang  on  the  fragile  table  beside  him. 

"  Gott  im  Himmel !  "  he  thundered.  "  Was 
sollen  alle  diese  Worte,  Fraulein?  What  does 
life  mean  to  you  —  what  does  man  mean  to  you 
-  what  is  art  to  you  ?  You  stand  there,  you 
say  it  is  cold,  when  I  am  all  hot  here  "  —  and 
he  beat  his  hand  against  his  chest.  "  Here 
in  my  hands  I  bring  before  you  my  symphony, 
my  greatest  music,  my  masterpiece.  Three, 
five  years  ago  I  begin  her  in  the  Fatherland 
—  I  come  to  this  America  —  I  cannot  write 
her.  I  make  only  things  to  shut  one's  ears. 
I  lay  her  aside,  I  say  it  is  no  use.  Then  I 
see  you  —  you  bring  back  the  Schaffensdrang. 
In  the  \voods  I  find  my  theme  when  I  am 
thinking  of  you  —  I  play  it  on  my  violin  — 
I  hear  the  horns  answering,  the  wood-winds 
making  the  little  voices  of  the  night,  the  big 
drum  go  bum !  —  so !  I  leave  that  Fairview. 
I  get  my  pencil  and  paper  and  I  write,  write, 

,write.     For  six  months  I  write.     I  make  the 

109 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

great  symphony.  I  make  it  so  that  people  shall 
hear  it,  and  laugh  and  cry  and  think  of 
their  youth  and  die  erste  Liebe  and  the  place 
where  they  were  geboren.  And  then  I  bring 
it  to  you  —  finished  —  complete  —  ready  for 
the  Herr  Direktor  to  lift  his  stick,  and  the 
first  violin  to  breathe  out  the  first  note  —  ach, 
such  a  note !  —  and  —  mein  Gott,  Fraiilein, 
you  tell  me  that  the  day  is  cold!  " 

The  distress  of  the  big  man  was  too  real 
to  be  doubted.  Jane  was  upset  by  the  vehe- 
mence of  his  attack,  and  suddenly  she  felt  that 
it  was  deserved.  She  told  herself  that  the 
game  she  had  been  playing  was  a  worth- 
less game;  that  she  had  yielded  to  false  gods, 
had  failed  to  be  the  woman  he  had  thought 
her,  and  she  put  her  hands  up  to  her  face, 
ashamed.  Herr  Darenbeck  jumped  from  his 
chair  and  tramped  two  or  three  times  up 
and  down  the  room.  Then  he  stopped  before 
her. 

"  I  ask  of  you  pardon,  gnadiges  Fraiilein," 


no 


THE   VALLEY    OF   INDECISION 

he   said  gently.     "  Tell  me,   then,   what  has 
happened." 

Jane  caught  her  breath  sharply  and  steadied 
herself. 

"  You  are  right,  Herr  Darenbeck,"  she  an- 
swered. "I  —  I  Ve  been  trying  to  forget  what 
I  ought  most  to  remember.  But  I  have  n't 
forgotten  as  much  as  you  think.  What  you 
said  to  me  in  the  woods  last  summer  will  stay 
with  me  as  long  as  I  live ;  and  "  —  she  held 
out  her  hand  to  him  as  she  spoke  —  "  in  all 
sincerity,  I  'm  going  to  try  to  carry  it  out.  Let 
me  see  your  symphony  —  will  you  ?  " 

The  German  looked  into  her  eyes  keenly. 
'  You  mean  that  —  yes  ?  Then  —  see !  " 
And  with  the  gesture  of  a  mother  laying  her 
child  in  other  hands  he  placed  before  Jane 
the  thick  bundle  of  manuscript  music,  written 
boldly,  with  a  sureness  of  touch,  a  big  spacious- 
ness even  in  the  broad  pen-strokes,  the  ties 
that  bound  note  to  note.  It  was  utterly  be- 
yond Jane's  dilettante  knowledge  of  music,  but 

in 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

the  very  touch  of  the  manuscript  thrilled  her 
with  a  sense  of  his  achievement  and  made 
her  eyes  shine. 

"  See,"  he  said  again,  turning  a  leaf. 
"  There  is  your  name  on  the  title-page.  This 
symphony  will  live  after  you  and  I  have  gone 
to  sleep,  and  never  will  it  be  played  to  move 
men  and  women  without  a  part  of  you  being 
in  it.  No,  not  one  man  shall  think  of  his 
home  valley,  not  one  woman  shall  think  of  her 
child  lying  sleeping  in  the  cradle,  without  its 
being  you  who  helped  to  make  it  so.  Is  not 
that  something?  " 

"  I  can  never  thank  you,"  whispered  Jane, 
moved  to  her  depths. 

"  Ach,  but  you  can,"  he  declared.  "  You  can 
be  yourself  —  always.  You  can  forget  to  talk 
about  the  cold  day  and  how  you  made  the 
name  on  the  ice.  You  can  go  out  and  learn 
to  do  the  big  things.  That  will  be  my  reward." 

From  that  moment  Jane's  decision  was  set- 
tled. She  never  knew  how  she  got  through 


112 


THE   VALLEY    OF    INDECISION 

the  farewells  at  home;  but  somehow  the  trunks 
at  last  were  all  packed,  the  good-bys  said,  the 
flowers  piled  in  their  drawing-room  on  the 
Limited,  and  Jane,  on  the  observation  platform, 
was  waving  good-by  to  a  group  of  friends  seen 
through  a  mist  of  tears.  Mrs.  Van  Mueller 
and  Margaret,  feeling  chilled  by  the  winter 
air,  went  in  as  soon  as  the  station  dropped  out 
of  sight  behind  the  warehouses,  and  Jane  sat 
alone  in  the  smoky  dusk,  thinking  more  so- 
berly than  she  had  ever  done  in  her  life. 

There  was  both  good  and  bad  in  Jane  Car- 
rington's  desire  to  go  on  the  stage.  All  her 
life  she  had  hungered  for  admiration,  and 
been  feverishly  eager  for  the  center  of  the 
spotlight.  It  was  vanity  that  had  moved  her 
social  eccentricities  and  won  her  the  name  of 
the  erratic  Miss  Carrington,  vanity  that  had 
swept  her  along  when  her  friends  praised  her 
acting,  vanity  that  had  made  her  yearn  for 
a  larger  audience  and  a  louder  applause.  That 
vanity,  though  she  would  not  have  admitted 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

it,  still  moved  her  strongly.  But  mingled  with 
it  was  something  greater  and  far  more  sin- 
cere, —  the  desire  of  every  human  being  to 
justify  its  existence,  to  strive,  to  succeed  in 
doing  some  one  thing  well. 

This  was  what  she  had  tried  to  express  when 
she  talked  with  her  father;  what,  if  she  had 
been  the  boy  he  had  hoped,  would  have  made 
her  his  able  lieutenant;  and  what  had  made 
him  waver  for  an  instant  when  she  had  pleaded 
for  a  chance  to  prove  her  ability.  But  he 
had  feared  for  her  safety,  as  any  father  might 
well  fear  for  the  safety  of  his  daughter  in 
such  a  life  as  she  contemplated;  and,  moved 
partly  by  that  fear  and  partly  by  the  known 
opinion  of  his  world,  he  had  refused. 

Jane  loved  her  father,  but  her  vanity  was 
stronger  than  her  love.  She  thought  of  him 
now,  and  sighed  —  poor  daddy,  it  would  hurt 
him  terribly.  Then  she  began  to  plan,  and 
in  planning  forgot  all  else  until  the  brake- 
man's  coming  to  place  the  tail-lights  startled 

114 


THE   VALLEY   OF   INDECISION 

her  into  a  realization  that  she  was  very  cold 
and  cramped.  They  must  be  waiting  for  her 
in  the  diner.  She  threw  a  kiss  back  through 
the  darkness  to  a  gray-haired  man  in  Chicago 
from  whom  she  was  drawing  farther  away 
with  every  mile,  and  went  in,  her  course  fully 

determined  in  her  own  mind. 

•          •••••• 

The  morning  they  intended  to  sail,  Mrs. 
Van  Mueller  and  Margaret  were  sipping 
breakfast  coffee  in  bed  at  the  hotel  in  New 
York  when  Jane  entered,  dressed  for  the 
street. 

"  Of  all  things ! "  exclaimed  Margaret. 
"What's  the  matter  with  you?  Dressed  for 
the  boat  already?  " 

Mrs.  Van  Mueller  echoed  her  daughter's 
surprise. 

Jane  was  buttoning  her  gloves  briskly. 
"  One  of  my  friends  telephoned  me  she  would 
never  forgive  me  if  I  did  not  run  in  to  see 
her  this  morning,  and  as  I  am  extremely  fond 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

of  her,  I  promised.  I  '11  check  my  trunks  and 
meet  you  on  the  boat.  It 's  nine  now." 

"How  will  you  get  to  Hoboken?" 

"  Oh,  I  '11  drive."  She  tossed  her  lynx  furs 
over  her  shoulders  with  an  assurance  that  left 
no  doubt  as  to  her  self-reliance. 

Mrs.  Van  Mueller  felt  a  trifle  awed  at  her 
energy. 

'  Just  as  you  please,  my  dear,  of  course. 
I  admire  your  spirit,  after  being  up  so  late. 
Had  n't  you  better  return  to  the  hotel  and  meet 
us  here?  " 

Jane  nervously  pulled  down  her  veil. 

"  Mary's  brother  will  see  me  to  the  boat." 

"Very  well;  very  well.  But  remember, 
eleven  o'clock!  and  don't  miss  us." 

"  Oh,  no,"  Jane  laughed ;  "  only  don't  wait 
for  me  on  the  dock;  it  is  safer  if  we  meet 
on  board.  Good-by  —  till  then !  " 

"Good-by!" 

And  Jane  fled  to  a  cab,  which  carried  her 
to  the  dock  where  lay  the  steamship  on  which 

116 


THE   VALLEY    OF   INDECISION 

their  passage  had  been  engaged.  There  she 
gave  a  letter  to  an  official,  with  instructions 
that  it  be  given  to  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  as  soon 
as  she  arrived.  The  letter  was  a  full  explana- 
tion of  the  plans  she  had  made,  and  the  cir- 
cumstances that  had  led  up  to  them.  It  en- 
treated a  thousand  pardons  for  this  terrible 
use  of  Mrs.  Van  Mueller's  friendship,  to  which 
she  now  owed  everything.  The  letter  once  out 
of  her  fingers,  Jane  gave  a  sigh  of  relief;  but 
the  relief  was  followed  soon  by  panic.  She 
hurried  into  the  cab  in  terror. 

"Where  to,  ma'am?" 

"  Harlem." 

It  was  the  first  distant  place  she  could  think 
of.  The  driver  was  surprised,  but  started  off. 
He  drove  for  an  hour  .  .  .  two  .  .  .  before 
she  came  to  the  true  realization  of  her  posi- 
tion. When  she  did,  she  felt  she  must  cry 
out  to  be  taken  back.  As  she  raised  her  hand 
to  knock  at  the  window  something  seemed  to 
draw  it  down.  Again  she  tried,  but  could 

117 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

not  bring  herself  to  attract  the  coachman's 
attention. 

"  I  must  go  back !  "  she  cried  aloud,  hoping 
he  might  hear,  but  the  noise  of  the  passing 
wagons  and  the  jangling  of  the  street  cars 
drowned  her  voice.  "  I  will  go  back ! "  She 
drew  herself  together,  and,  putting  her  hand 
upon  the  door,  was  about  to  open  it  when  a 
truck  towered  close  to  the  wheel.  She  put 
out  her  other  hand  to  open  the  opposite  door 
just  as  a  car  ran  alongside  of  it.  She  sank 
back  again,  trembling. 

"  I  am  alone  —  alone  —  alone !  "  As  the 
utter  desolation  of  the  word  swept  over  her, 
she  was  seized  with  a  frenzy  of  desire  to 
return. 

"Driver!" 

She  beat  her  hands  against  the  glass,  and 
her  cry  rang  out  shrilly  above  the  noise  of 
the  city.  "  Drive  me  back  to  the  dock ;  I 
must  make  that  boat;  it  sails  at  eleven." 

As  the  coachman  drew  up  his  horse  and 
1x8 


THE   VALLEY   OF    INDECISION 

turned  to  hear  her  orders,  the  noonday  whistles 
shrieked  above  the  grating  and  grinding  of 
the  heavy  teams  upon  the  cobble  pavement. 

"  Drive  on,"  she  said,  wishing  she  could 
crawl  into  a  dark  corner  somewhere  and  die. 
Then  she  laughed  at  the  absurdity  of  her  weak- 
ness, and  out  of  her  despair  there  came  slowly 
a  sense  of  relief  —  an  ecstacy  of  joy  at  the 
realization  of  her  freedom.  "  Alone,  yes ;  but 
free!" 

It  made  no  difference  that  the  small  room 
she  had  reserved  for  herself  at  the  hotel  over- 
looked a  court,  and  that  the  furniture  was 
of  oak  and  the  wall  paper  light-brown,  with 
flowers  that  made  one  think  of  crawling 
spiders.  Yes,  she  laughed  with  ironic  humor 
as  two  porters  struggled  to  crowd  five  trunks 
into  the  small  room  —  trunks  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  an  array  of  garments  intended 
to  make  conquests  of  foreign  nobility,  but 
doomed  to  lie  hidden  or  to  be  used  on  the 

stage. 

119 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Now  that  indecision  was  over,  the  final  step 
taken  and  all  bridges  burned  behind  her,  the 
novelty  of  the  new  situation  revived  in  Jane 
her  natural  buoyancy  —  her  almost  boyish  pas- 
sion for  adventure.  In  this  spirit,  and  equipped 
for  conquest  in  a  navy  blue  suit  of  simple  cut, 
a  black  hat  placed  at  a  sedate  angle  upon 
her  heacl,  the  brilliancy  of  her  complexion 
mellowed  by  a  dark-blue  veil,  a  cluster  of 
purple  violets  nestling  in  her  black  lynx 
muff,  Jane  started  forth  next  morning  to 
win  Broadway. 


1 20 


PART   TWO 
THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 


CHAPTER   V 

Theatrical  agencies  —  there  were  so  many 
of  them!  Jane  had  run  her  finger  down  the 
list  in  the  telephone  book  and  made  a  memo- 
randum of  the  names  she  had  heard  of  and 
which  she  believed  were  reliable.  She  would 
take  a  street  car  and  go  to  Mrs.  Moughton's 
first.  She  was  not  used  to  cars,  and  tried  to 
resist  breathing  the  noxious  air.  She  shrank 
back  to  prevent  contact  with  the  crowd,  but 
the  conductor's  dirty  hands  pushed  her  roughly 
forward  with  a  "  Step  up  there ;  step  up ! " 

This  direct  allusion  to  her  was  so  humilia- 
ting that  Jane,  pink  with  embarrassment,  de- 
scended at  the  next  corner  and  hailed  a  han- 
som to  take  her  to  the  theater  building  in 
Broadway.  Although  the  cabman  charged  a 
dollar,  Jane,  through  a  habit  of  tipping,  which 

she  considered  necessary,  added  enough  change 

123 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

to  send  him  off  smiling.  His  appreciation  re- 
acted on  her  as  a  tonic  for  self-esteem.  She 
stepped  into  the  elevator  with  the  feeling  that 
she  was  still  the  well-born,  well-bred,  irresist- 
ible Jane  Carrington. 

A  gentleman,  recognizing  in  her  the  refine- 
ment of  birth,  took  off  his  hat.  The  other 
men  in  the  car  only  stared.  Jane  thought  to 
leave  them  as  her  floor  was  reached,  but  they, 
too,  were  bound  for  the  Moughton  Agency. 
The  name  in  black  letters  on  ground  glass 
glared  at  them  awe-inspiringly.  In  the  second 
that  she  hesitated,  considering  whether  she 
should  knock  or  open  the  door,  one  of  the  men 
gave  the  knob  a  sharp  turn  and  strode  in;  the 
rest  followed. 

The  room  was  fairly  large  and  divided  by 
a  wooden  fence  with  a  gate.  In  the  part  near 
the  window  there  were  common  writing  desks, 
several  typewriters,  a  few  chairs,  and  piles  of 
papers  of  mysterious  kinds  and  sizes  lying  on 

the  floor.     Stenographers  were  monotonously 

124 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

clicking  at  the  machines,  and  several  men 
were  wandering  about,  aimlessly.  They  had 
a  great  deal  of  space  to  themselves,  —  too 
much,  she  thought,  —  while  the  space  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fence,  where  she  stood,  was 
crowded  with  men  and  women,  the  majority 
standing. 

Wondering  what  everybody  was  waiting 
for,  she  made  her  way  boldly  to  the  railing, 
expecting  to  question  one  of  the  men  on  the 
other  side.  He  came  forward  finally,  as  if 
to  speak  to  her;  but  instead,  to  her  dismay, 
called  over  her  shoulder  to  some  one  behind 
her. 

"Fredericks,  that  you?" 

A  man's  voice,  rich  in  tone,  sounded  in 
Jane's  ear  as  she  was  pushed  aside  by  a 
fat,  perspiring  man  with  a  creasy  double 
chin. 

"  Got  anything  for  me  ?  " 

11  Go  down  to  the  matinee  at  Daly's  to-day, 
and  after  it,  report  here." 

125 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

A  pleasant  smile  broadened  the  fat  man's 
face  as  he  turned  quickly  to  leave.  Jane 
seized  the  opportunity. 

"  A  part  for  me  ?  "  she  asked,  trying  her  best 
to  be  bold. 

:<  Read  the  board,"  the  man  answered  im- 
patiently, jotting  down  something  on  a  piece 
of  paper  and  then  turning  his  back. 

Hurt  pride  rushed  the  blood  to  Jane's  cheeks. 
She  looked  about  hastily  to  see  if  the  crowd 
about  her  was  smiling  at  her  ignorance,  but 
found  to  her  relief  that  it  was  interested  in 
more  personal  things. 

"  The  board  is  over  there,"  said  a  gentle, 
sweet-voiced  woman,  pointing  to  a  blackboard 
fastened  against  the  only  space  of  wall  free 
from  framed  photographs  of  members  of  the 
"  profession." 

"  Oh !  "  gasped  Jane,  as  her  eyes  caught  sight 
of  the  sign  of  "  Wanted,"  and  below  it  the 
kind  of  engagements  to  be  filled.  '  That 's 
—  that's  all  they  have  to  offer  here?" 

126 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

The  woman  looked  at  her  puzzled.  "  Did 
you  just  get  in?  " 

Although  she  was  not  quite  sure  that  she 
had  understood  the  question,  Jane  nodded. 

"  Who  have  you  been  out  with  ?  " 

"I  beg  pardon?" 

"  Been  out  on  the  road  ?  " 

"  No,  I  —  I've  never  acted  before  —  pro- 
fessionally. I  'm  beginning." 

The  woman's  face  cleared. 

"Have  you  registered?" 

"Where?" 

"  Registered  — given  your  name  —  does  the 
agency  know  you?" 

"  No ;  I  don't  know  anything  about  that ; 
it 's  awfully  good  of  you  —  how  do  I  do 
it?" 

'  Tell  that  man  there  what  you  want ;  it 's 
hard  to  get  anything  just  now.  Two  plays 
failed  this  week,  and  we  're  all  back  looking 
for  something  new.  .  .  .  Why,  Nell,  you  old 
dear!" 

127 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

As  the  actress  caught  sight  of  a  friend,  the 
conversation  came  to  an  abrupt  end,  and  Jane 
was  left  to  feel  doubly  lonesome  as  she  saw 
the  two  join  in  an  enthusiastic  embrace.  There 
was  nothing  else  to  do  but  approach  the  man 
she  had  been  advised  to  address. 

"Name?"  he  asked  tersely. 

"  Cecelia  South,"  answered  Jane  bravely. 

"  Last  engagement?  " 

The  words  came  so  snappily,  he  seemed  so 
sure  that  there  had  been  a  last  engagement, 
that,  feeling  as  if  the  ground  were  suddenly 
slipping  from  under  her,  Jane  stammered  some- 
thing about  not  having  played  lately. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  Er  —  emotional  parts  —  and  —  " 

"  What  companies  ?  " 

Jane's  tongue  grew  dry.  While  she  hesi- 
tated an  actor  strode  up,  exclaiming  jovially: 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Flecker,  I  came  in 
to  give  you  my  new  address." 

The  man  at  the  desk,  close  to  the  railing, 
128 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

looked  up  and  seemed  a  bit  puzzled;  yet,  as 
if  trying  to  hide  his  failure  to  recognize  the 
newcomer,  hastened  his  pen  to  his  note-book, 
pausing  after  he  had  written  "  Mr./'  and  say- 
ing persuasively :  "  Mister I  can't  recall 

—  pardon  me  —  Mister " 

"  Ben  Sawyer  —  character." 

"  Ah,  yes  —  ah,  yes !  Of  course  —  one  for- 
gets—  and  the  address?" 

The  actor  spoke  it  confidently,  smiled  affably, 
and,  giving  a  dapper  swing  to  his  cane,  asked : 
"  Anything  doing  for  me  just  now  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day." 

Jane  was  watching  the  actor  closely. 

"All  right,  then,"  he  said.  "I'll  come 
around  to-morrow;  don't  forget  me  again  — 
eh  ?  Character,  you  know  —  eh  ?  Good  morn- 
ing, good  morning !  " 

He  dashed  out  as  he  had  come  in,  exhaling 
good  cheer  and  a  self-complacency  that  was 
thoroughly  convincing. 

"  Queer,  can't  remember  the  chap,"  muttered 
129 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

the  man  at  the  desk.  "  Can't  remember  him, 
but  I  guess  he 's  made  good.  Now  what 
were  you  saying,  Miss  —  Miss  —  South  ?  " 
But  Jane  had  fled. 

Rushing  up  to  the  railing  at  the  next  agency 
on  her  list  she  exclaimed :  "  I  came  to  give 
you  my  new  address." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  " 

"  Have  you  forgotten  me  —  Cecelia  South?  " 

"Ah  —  yes  —  Miss  South,  you're  back?" 

'  Yes,  I  'm  back.  My  address  this  time  will 
be  Hotel  Devonshire.  Anything  for  me  in  my 
line  —  ingenue  —  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day." 

'  Well,  I  '11  be  in  again,  and  if  anything 
should  turn  up  —  why  —  to  me,  eh  ?  Good 
morning,  good  morning !  " 

As  the  door  slammed  behind  her  the  man 
of  the  second  agency  tugged  reflectively  at  a 
tuft  of  his  hair. 

"  Confound  my  memory.    I  did  n't  know  she 

was  so  good-looking." 

130 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

When  she  came  back  the  next  day  he  smiled : 
"  Sorry,  nothing  yet." 

At  the  end  of  some  weeks  Jane's  search  for 
an  engagement,  so  hopefully  begun,  became  a 
desperate  attempt  to  find  a  means  of  liveli- 
hood. She  had  returned  her  letter  of  credit 
to  her  father,  begging  his  forgiveness  for  her 
deception.  She  had  told  him  she  was  taking 
an  assumed  name  and  would  never  trouble 
him  again.  She  had  given  no  address,  and 
had  retained  only  enough  money  for  her  im- 
mediate use.  She  had  not  counted  on  so  long 
a  search  for  employment,  and  her  financial 
condition  was  growing  serious. 

There  was  the  price  of  her  room  to  be  con- 
sidered, her  meals,  and  the  extra  charge  for 
serving  them  upstairs  —  it  would  be  too  em- 
barrassing to  sit  alone  in  the  main  dining- 
room,  she  thought.  She  had  taken  cabs  oftener 
than  she  had  realized,  and  had  bought  violets 
every  day  to  make  her  costume  more  effec- 
tive. Then,  too,  her  sympathies,  so  quickly 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

reached  by  human  need,  helped  to  drain  her 
purse. 

"  Are  n't  you  cold  ?  "  she  asked  a  violet  boy 
one  day,  noticing  his  raw  wrists  as  he  handled 
the  bouquet  she  was  purchasing. 

"  Froze,"  he  replied  with  a  shiver. 

She  could  not  resist  giving  him  a  dollar  and 
disappearing  before  he  could  make  the  change. 
It  cheered  her  to  picture  his  astonishment  and 
pleasure.  She  knew  how  much  she,  herself, 
would  have  valued  the  aid  of  a  friend. 

The  realization  of  her  situation  chased  hope 
out  of  her  eyes;  it  drew  puckers  in  her  fore- 
head, and  took  the  joyful  spring  out  of  her 
walk.  Her  lips  drooped  wearily  when  not 
tightly  pressed  together  in  efforts  to  overcome, 
by  self-assertion,  her  growing  sensitiveness. 
She  went  to  a  cheaper  hotel,  walked  to  save 
carfare,  and  ate  as  little  as  she  dared.  It  was 
hard  to  give  up  personal  comfort  and  deny 
oneself;  it  was  all  the  harder  by  contrast 

with  the  kind  of  a  life  that  had  gone  before. 

132 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

It  seemed  the  depth  of  degradation  to  pawn 
one  of  her  rings,  and  the  ticket  lying  in  her 
pocket  burnt  her  with  shame.  Even  when  she 
slept  there  were  dreams  of  detectives  and 
police.  One  night,  in  fleeing  from  them  in 
a  dream,  she  ran  for  safety  to  her  father's 
arms,  and,  awakened  by  her  own  cry  that  re- 
sounded in  the  room,  put  out  her  hands  in  the 
dark,  only  to  find  herself  alone.  Another  night 
she  dreamed  she  was  a  star,  and  taking  cur- 
tain-calls in  answer  to  deafening  applause.  She 
awoke  to  find  the  applause  was  sleet  driving 
against  the  window. 

The  sleet  continued  all  day,  but  she  braved 
it,  and  made  her  way  to  the  street  car  and  a 
manager's  office  she  had  visited  many  times 
already.  She  came  in,  her  veil  frosted  by  her 
breath,  her  forehead  fringed  with  damp  curls, 
her  furs  wet  and  stringy,  and  slush  thick  on 
her  boots. 

"  Don't  tell  me  you  have  nothing  to-day," 
she  pleaded,  breatnlessly  sinking  into  a  chair. 

133 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  I  Ve  got  to  find  work.  I  've  got  to ;  you 
must  give  me  something!" 

"  Beauty  in  distress !  That  ain't  a  bad  prop- 
erty pose." 

Jane's  eyes  flashed,  but  she  had  learned  that 
the  resentment  of  such  discourtesies  did  no 
good.  So  she  said  nothing,  and  the  manager, 
mollified  by  his  exhibition  of  acumen,  went  on : 

"  You  wait  until  I  read  my  mail,  and  then 
I  '11  let  you  know." 

He  turned  to  his  desk  with  an  air  of  end- 
ing the  conversation,  and  Jane,  going  over  to 
the  dingy  window,  stared  out  at  the  rain-swept 
street,  trying  to  choke  down  a  lump  in  her 
throat.  A  poor  girl,  draggled  and  hopeless, 
passed  close  to  the  window.  Jane  noticed  her 
broken  shoes  and  wondered  how  it  would  be 
if  she  were  to  exchange  places  with  her. 
Which  was  the  worst  kind  of  misery  —  to 
know  the  lack  of  what  one  had  had  or  to  long 
for  the  unexperienced? 

"  You  can  have  this  part  if  you  want  it. 
134 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

I  was  going  to  give  it  to  Sybilline  Mann,  but 
she  ain't  here  yet,  and  you  '11  do  just  as  well." 

The  manager  pushed  a  slim  little  blue  book- 
let to  the  edge  of  the  desk,  and  Jane,  once 
more  aglow  with  hope,  recrossed  the  room. 

"  It 's  fifteen  a  week,  and  we  leave  town 
Sunday  to  try  it  on  the  road.  Ain't  no  place 
for  it  on  Broadway  yet.  Call  for  rehearsal 
at  ten." 

She  did  not  reply,  for  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  speak.  She  went  away  and,  having 
no  other  place  to  go  until  the  time  for  re- 
hearsal, directed  her  steps  to  the  stage  door. 

The  doorman  growled  as  a  gust  of  rain 
swept  in  with  her. 

"  I  've  come  for  rehearsal,"  she  said  timidly, 
in  answer  to  a  scrutinizing  frown.  He  ac- 
cepted her  explanation  without  response,  and 
she  was  left  to  find  her  way  along  the  narrow 
corridor  that  led  finally  to  a  shaky  wooden 
staircase  and  the  stage  above,  where  the  light 
of  dismal  day,  filtering  through  one  window 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

in  the  rear,  was  scarcely  enough  to  outline 
pieces  of  scenery  leaning  against  the  wall  and 
various  properties  scattered  here  and  there. 
As  her  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  dimness, 
the  spiderwebs  grew  in  size  and  the  scenery 
loomed  up  in  all  its  exaggerated  hideousness. 
Beyond  the  proscenium  the  black  auditorium 
"looked  as  if  shrouded  in  death. 

The  utter  desolation  of  the  place,  bereft  of 
all  scintillating  sham,  intensified  the  ache  of 
Jane's  much  bruised  spirit.  She  tried  to  shake 
off  her  growing  despondency  by  walking  up 
and  down  the  stage  reciting  the  lines  of  her 
part,  but  her  footsteps  re-echoed  hollowly  over 
the  trap  doors,  and  invisible  spirits  of  the  place 
seemed  to  taunt  her  novitiate.  She  imagined 
the  shades  of  Siddons  and  Booth  laughing  de- 
risively at  her  conceit  as  she  shrank  upon  a 
dusty  chair,  shivering  with  the  cold  that  pene- 
trated even  through  her  furs,  and  trembling 
with  the  recently  acquired  realization  of  her 

incompetence.    A  gray  mouse,  nibbling  peace- 

136 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

fully  at  the  stalk  of  a  tissue-paper  rosebush, 
and  the  doorman,  falling  asleep  in  his  glass 
cage,  seemed  to  be  the  only  other  living  beings 
in  the  house. 

Towards  ten  o'clock  the  members  of  the 
company  began  to  troop  in,  scarcely  noticing 
her  in  their  indifference  to  all  which  did  not 
concern  themselves.  Formerly  this  unconcern 
would  have  stung  her  to  the  quick,  accustomed 
as  she  was  to  attention;  now  it  was  with  a 
sense  of  relief  that  she  gave  up  the  center  of 
the  stage  to  those  who  considered  it  their  due. 

In  the  gray  light  of  the  damp  atmosphere 
the  faces  of  the  women  looked  uncannily  pale 
and  drawn,  and  those  of  the  men  of  the  com- 
pany unpleasantly  sallow.  The  cold  that  made 
them  hug  themselves  in  their  coats  and  pull 
up  their  collars  did  not  help  to  assuage  their 
ill-temper,  aroused  by  the  delay  of  the  man- 
ager in  coming  to  conduct  the  rehearsal.  The 
men  paced  the  stage  impatiently,  cursing  the 
rule  that  forbade  smoking,  while  the  women 

137 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

tried  to  warm  the  atmosphere  with  unpleasant 
little  spurts  of  gossip.  One  of  them,  in  hold- 
ing her  wet  skirt  away  from  her  feet,  dis- 
played a  pair  of  low  brown  shoes  begrimed 
with  mud  and  a  brown  stocking  much  in  need 
of  darning.  Her  hair  was  bleached,  and  Jane 
shrank  within  herself  in  disgust.  Her  gesture 
aroused  the  curiosity  of  the  woman. 

"Hello!  What's  your  turn?"  she  bawled 
out  cordially. 

"I  beg  pardon?"  murmured  Jane  shrink- 
ingly,  but  her  answer  was  greeted  with  chuckles 
of  amusement.  The  men  stopped  walking  to 
listen  to  the  conversation,  and  the  women 
swung  around  in  their  chairs  to  face  her. 

"  You  're  green  in  the  business,  ain't  you?" 
exclaimed  the  heavy  lady;  but  though  her 
words  sounded  rude,  her  voice  was  not  unkind. 
"  I  remember  how  old  Daly  tuk  me  in  when 
I  was  a  kid  and  was  to  make  me  a  leadin' 
lady,  only  I  tuk  sick  and  then  Ada  Rehan  got 
the  job,  but  I  could  have  —  " 

138 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

"  Say,  that  '11  do  for  you,  Cheshire,"  cut  in 
the  blondine.  '  We  've  heard  that  stuff  be- 
fore; you  ain't  got  nothing  left  for  your  hits 
but  your  Cheshire  smile." 

"  That 's  more  'n  you  got,"  was  the  angry 
retort.  "  I  was  married  when  I  was  half  your 
age." 

The  blondine  flushed.  "  Perhaps  it  ain't  for 
lack  of  chances." 

Derisive  laughter  followed  this  remark  and 
a  combat  of  words,  in  the  heat  of  which  Jane 
was  forgotten  by  the  women.  One  of  the  men, 
with  elaborate  courtesy,  begged  to  introduce 
himself  as  Harold  Forrest,  the  leading  man 
of  the  production.  Jane  replied  that  she  was 
Cecelia  South,  intrusted  with  the  part  of 
the  maid,  but  that  she  hoped  for  a  better 
opportunity. 

"  Deuced  hard  luck ! "  murmured  Mr.  For- 
rest, in  a  voice  delicately  modulated  with  sym- 
pathy, as  he  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down 
beside  her.  "  My  part  is  very  bad,  too.  I 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

was  to  be  starred  this  yeah,  but  at  the  last 
moment  we  could  n't  get  the  American  rights. 
Of  course,  if  this  is  a  success  I  might  be  in- 
duced to  play  it  for  a  season.  You  see  Caro- 
line Mills  is  waning  in  popularity  —  bad  vehi- 
cles for  two  yeahs  running  —  and  is  afraid 
to  face  Broadway  a  third  time  without  a  trial 
on  the  road.  So  we  're  out  for  the  number- 
two  towns  to  St.  Louis,  this  trip." 

"  I  have  never  been  much  impressed  with 
Miss  Mills'  talent,"  ventured  Jane,  trying  to 
suppress  her  growing  aversion. 

"  Clevah,  but  not  emotional.  Hard  as  nails 
to  play  up  to.  Have  you  been  on  long?  " 

"  No ;  that  is,  yes ;  two  years  —  out  west  — 
in  stock.  This  is  my  first  trial  in  New  York." 

"  Oh,  we  don't  play  New  York,  you  know. 
We  're  too  afraid  of  a  frost ;  it 's  us  for  Al- 
bany next  Monday.  D'  ye  see  —  " 

He  was  starting  off  on  another  harangue 
when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  blondine,  who, 
to  cut  short  a  banter  that  was  getting  beyond 

140 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

her  inventive  wit,  directed  the  attention  of  her 
companions  to  them. 

"Say,  look  at  the  lady-killer  and  the  kid!" 

Jane  thereby  received  the  professional  bap- 
tism of  the  nickname  "  Kid,"  which  clung  to 
her  as  long  as  the  company  lived  to  call  her 
so.  Forrest  received  the  comment  with  a  tol- 
erant smile,  and  Jane's  embarrassment  was 
covered  by  the  noisy  advent  of  the  manager 
and  the  star,  Caroline  Mills. 

"  B-r-r-r-r,  it's  freezing!"  cried  the  star 
petulantly.  "No  steam  on  here?  I  can  see 
my  breath.  I  don't  want  this  kind  of  a  frost." 

A  stage  hand  lighting  the  lamp  on  the 
prompt  table  growled  something  about  seeing 
what  he  could  do  and  disappeared  in  haste. 
The  manager  tightened  the  muffler  about  his 
neck  and,  rapping  on  the  table,  called  for  the 
opening  scene.  The  actors  sauntered  to  their 
places  and  the  rehearsal  began. 

"  Not  do  it ! "  said  an  actor,  after  some  little 

time  had  elapsed. 

141 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Not  do  it !  "  he  said,  and  looked  about 
questioningly. 

"  Not  do  it !  "  shouted  the  manager.  There 
was  silence.  "  Whose  cue  is  '  Not  do  it '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  it 's  mine,"  ex- 
claimed Jane,  suddenly  awakened  to  the  frac- 
tional value  of  her  part  to  the  whole. 

"  Mind  your  business  and  don't  keep  the  re- 
hearsal all  day.  Enter  D.  F.,  address  Larson." 

Fortunately  Jane  had  had  enough  amateur 
training  to  know  the  abbreviations  used  in 
stage  manuscript,  but  she  did  not  know  which 
of  the  four  people  in  the  scene  was  the  actor 
called  Larson. 

"Which  is  Mr.  Larson?"  she  asked  natur- 
ally enough,  but  the  question  sounded  stupid 
and  made  the  blondine  titter. 

The  titter  wras  the  thing  Jane  needed.  She 
threw  back  her  head  and  defiance  lighted  her 
eyes,  which  before  had  been  expressionless  and 
dull.  Harold  Forrest  wondered  why  he  had 
not  thought  her  pretty  before,  and  the  star 

142 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

gave  her  a  sharp  look,  the  first  she  had  deigned 
to  bestow  upon  her. 

"  The  kid  's  got  a  temper,"  whispered  the 
blondine  to  Cheshire.  "  Good  for  her." 

Jane  felt  intuitively  that  she  was  winning 
ground. 

The  rehearsal  was  long  and  dreary  and 
when  it  was  over  the  temper  of  all  concerned 
had  been  much  tried.  As  the  company  was 
straggling  out,  the  blondine  paused  at  Jane's 
side  and  half-timidly  linked  her  arm  in  hers. 
Jane  started  in  surprise,  but  shrank  from  hurt- 
ing the  girl  by  drawing  away.  Whereas  bodily 
fatigue  made  the  majority  of  the  company 
maudlin,  it  seemed  to  make  the  blondine  gentle. 
"  Let 's  go  out  together  and  get  some  lunch," 
she  said  wistfully.  "  I  'm  awfully  dry." 

Jane  wanted  to  refuse,  but  the  morning  had 
been  such  a  battle  —  the  last  two  weeks  such 
a  fight  against  loneliness  —  that  she  had  n't 
the  courage  to  scorn  an  offer  of  companion- 
ship. For  answer  she  let  herself  be  led  to 

H3 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

a  small  restaurant  not  far  away,  where,  in 
spite  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  there  was 
a  strong  odor  of  steak  and  fried  onions.  The 
place  was  not  crowded,  though  the  tablecloths 
showed  that  it  had  been,  so  the  blondine  had 
the  choice  of  a  table  near  the  window  that 
fronted  the  street. 

"  Please,  not  there ! "  said  Jane  in  horror. 
"  Everybody  passing  will  see  us." 

"  I  want  to  see  them,"  answered  the  blondine 
regretfully,  but  without  dwelling  upon  her 
preference  followed  Jane  to  the  back  of  the 
room.  They  sank  into  chairs  without  taking 
off  their  coats,  as  the  heat  only  intensified 
their  chilliness. 

"Waiter,  bring  two  whiskies,"  said  the 
blondine,  picking  up  the  bill  of  fare  as  if  in 
her  exceeding  hunger  she  would  devour  the 
list  with  her  eyes.  Jane  did  not  remonstrate. 
She  was  cold  and  she  wanted  whiskey;  she 
disliked  the  taste  of  it,  but  the  effect  would 

be  good. 

144 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

"  How  much  money  have  you  got  in  your 
kick?" 

"What?"  asked  Jane. 

"  How  much  can  you  pay  for  your  lunch  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Jane,  counting  the  change  in  her 
purse,  "  I  have  seventy-five  cents." 

"  All  right,  bring  us  a  steak  and  some  cof- 
fee !  Hot,  and  lots  of  it.  Gee,  I  'm  hungry ; 
ain't  you?  " 

Jane  nodded.  "  I  did  n't  eat  much  for 
breakfast." 

"  I  did  n't  have  none  to-day.  We  had  sup- 
per out  last  night.  What 's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Cecelia  South." 

"  Never  heard  of  you  before.  I  'm  Kate 
Huntington,  as  you  heard  that  fool  of  a  man- 
ager call  me.  Say,  was  n't  he  the  limit  this 
morning?  This  your  first  fling?" 

"  I  've  been  on  two  years,"  said  Jane  steadily, 
but  to  her  surprise  Kate  shook  her  head  and 
reached  across  the  table  to  pat  her  companion's 
hand.  "  No,  you  ain't,  little  girl,"  she  said 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

gently.  "  It 's  your  first  fling,  and  you  're 
nothing  but  a  kid.  What  you  doin'  it  for? 
Why  did  n't  you  stay  at  home  with  your  folks  ? 
You  had  it  good  there ;  you  '11  find  that  out, 
quick." 

In  a  moment  the  veneer  of  coarseness,  one 
kind  of  self-protection,  faded  away,  and  Jane, 
looking  at  the  woman  before  her,  saw  a  face 
tragically  lined  by  sorrow  and  blue  eyes  sweet- 
ened by  many  tears.  Made  reverent  at  the 
revelation,  she  answered  softly :  "  I  could  n't 
help  it.  I  had  to  come.  I  wanted  to  act,  and 
I  can't  go  back  now ! " 

"  You  would  n't  if  I  begged  you  to,  if  I 
told  you  you  'd  be  sorry?  " 

"  No !  "     The  answer  was  final. 

"  Then  God  help  you." 

It  was  a  dramatic  moment.  To  two  natures 
keenly  sensitive  to  the  dramatic,  silence  was 
the  only  fitting  sequence.  And  yet  that  silence, 
broken  finally  by  the  waiter  bringing  the  plates, 

had  bridged  the  breach  between  idealism  and 

146 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

realism.  In  some  vague  way  Jane  understood 
that  though  she  could  never  learn  more  of 
Kate  Huntington  than  Kate  desired  to  reveal 
of  her  own  accord,  herself  was  but  an  open 
page  to  one  who  had  learned  to  know  many 
a  chapter  in  the  book  of  life.  How  much  or 
how  little  had  been  divined  she  could  not  gauge, 
but  the  thought  of  being  understood,  instead 
of  annoying  or  frightening  her,  filled  her  with 
a  sense  of  relief.  She  told  as  much  of  her 
present  circumstances  as  she  dared,  and  del- 
uged the  actress  with  questions  concerning 
professional  technicalities.  Kate  answered 
slangily,  now  and  then  interpolating  a  squib 
or  a  pun  nauseatingly  old  to  the  "  profession  " 
but  deliciously  new  to  Jane. 

After  all  the  steak  was  not  bad,  and  the 
coffee  cheering,  so  when  Kate  ordered  her  back 
to  her  hotel  for  a  good  sleep,  Jane  went  hope- 
fully, almost  happily,  to  dream  she  was  play- 
ing with  many  golden  butterflies. 


CHAPTER   VI 

The  kind  of  room  one  occupied  was  no 
longer  so  important  as  the  regularity  and 
quantity  of  one's  meals. 

"  It 's  cheaper  if  we  take  a  room  together," 
suggested  Kate  when  they  were  in  the  train 
bound  for  Albany,  and  Jane  acquiesced. 

On  arrival  at  an  actors'  boarding-house, 
where  most  of  the  members  of  "  The  Sister's 
Revenge "  company  flocked,  there  was  a 
scramble  for  rooms,  out  of  which  Kate  finally 
issued  triumphant,  with  the  news  that  she  and 
Jane  could  have  a  third-floor  room,  center 
front,  for  the  three  nights  of  their  stay.  The 
landlady  had  called  the  price  "  a  special  favor," 
but  Kate  called  it  a  "  snide  game."  The  room 
contained  a  bed,  two  chairs,  a  washstand  with 
chipped  crockery,  and  three  family  portraits. 

From  the  window  one  could  see  a  bit  of  the 

148 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

Hudson  hills  in  the  distance,  but  the  broken- 
glass  pane  mended  with  yellow  butcher  paper 
did  not  improve  the  view,  and  was  small  pro- 
tection against  the  cold. 

"  It  ain't  so  awful,  Kid ! "  exclaimed  Kate 
cheerily,  as  she  saw  her  companion's  lips 
tremble  dangerously.  "  It 's  fine  for  the  health, 
this  cold  —  makes  you  sleep  well.  Lor',  you 
should  have  seen  the  pip  we  got  in  our  lungs 
in  Dakota.  Golly,  I  can  feel  it  yet,  and  me 
playing  the  countess  in  bare  skin.  Now  you 
take  off  your  duds  and  hop  in,  and  you  '11  see 
the  sun  shining  in  the  morning." 

Jane  walked  to  the  bed  and,  swallowing 
hard,  felt  of  the  bluish  sheets  with  shrinking 
fingers. 

"  Are  —  are  all  places  on  the  road  like 
this  ?  "  she  asked. 

:i  It 's  pot  luck  with  all  of  them,  I  guess, 
'cept  when  you  're  a  star,  and  can  put  up  at 
the  Waldorf." 

Jane  said  nothing,  but  a  shudder  of  irre- 
149 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

pressible  disgust  ran  through  her,  the  cry  of 
the  body  for  long-accustomed  comfort,  the  need 
of  the  spirit  that  shrank  from  everything 
coarse,  the  demand  of  refinement  for  culture 
and  harmony,  the  craving  for  the  beautiful! 
Like  the  painted  blotchy  scenery,  at  close  range, 
the  life  of  the  stage  seemed  sordid.  Jane  re- 
luctantly took  off  her  furs. 

Soon  Kate  announced  that  she  was  ready 
to  try  the  bath-tub  across  the  hall,  and  van- 
ished in  a  cotton-crepe  kimona.  When  she 
returned,  she  found  Jane  looking  very  pretty 
in  her  scarlet  dressing-gown,  with  her  dark 
hair  falling  about  her  shoulders. 

"  I  let  the  water  run  in  the  tub  for  you, 
honey,  and  stuck  a  sign  on  the  door.  You 
ain't  got  nothing  for  your  own  for  long  here, 
so  hurry  up  before  the  hot  water  runs  out. 
It's  coming  mighty  slow." 

Jane  ran  across  the  hall  into  a  small  room 
quite  devoid  of  towels  and  soap,  but  crowded 
to  its  capacity  with  odd  pieces  of  useless  fur- 

150 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

niture,  as  if  all  the  superfluous  articles  of  the 
household  had  been  gathered  there  through- 
out a  year's  time. 

She  had  her  towel  and  toilet  articles  with 
her,  of  course,  but  as  her  foot  daintily  touched 
the  grainy  bottom  of  the  tin  tub  she  thought 
of  her  Roman  tiled  one  at  home  and  sighed. 

On  returning  to  the  room,  she  found  Kate 
putting  her  hair  up  in  curl-papers  for  the 
night,  and  the  "  heavy  lady,"  who  had  come 
up  in  her  yellow  kimona  from  the  floor  below, 
chatting  on  the  bed. 

'  There  are  them  vaudeville  people  next  to 
me,"  she  was  saying.  "  You  know  —  that  Jim 
Tortonati  and  his  wife  who  do  the  cycle  turn. 
I  don't  expect  to  get  any  sleep ;  they  're  always 
scrappin'.  That 's  the  worst  of  a  town  like 
this,  you  can't  be  particular  and  go  to  a  house 
that  takes  only  '  legits  ' !  "  She  broke  off  at 
the  sight  of  Jane.  "  Hello,  Kid,  you  look  fresh 
as  a  rose.  Hop  right  in  and  don't  catch  cold," 
and  she  drew  back  the  covers  of  the  bed  in 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

a  motherly  fashion.  Jane,  only  too  glad  to 
escape  the  chilliness  of  the  room,  crept  in 
quickly,  and  as  the  heavy  woman  bent  over 
her  to  tuck  in  the  covers  she  impetuously 
kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  daughter  like  you.  I  'd 
see  you  got  to  be  a  star.  You  ain't  got  a 
chance  to  show  your  make-up." 

The  unexpected  tenderness  of  the  voice 
touched  a  chord  too  sensitive  to  be  unrespon- 
sive. 

Hot  tears  sprang  to  Jane's  eyes  and  she  im- 
pulsively threw  her  arms  about  the  woman's 
neck. 

"  There,  there,  honey,  you  just  cry  all  you 
want  to ;  it  '11  do  you  good,"  said  the  older 
woman  gently.  "  You  've  been  keeping  too 
much  of  this  in ;  you  Ve  got  to  learn  to  blow 
off  steam  like  the  rest  of  us.  There,  there! 
You  're  homesick  now,  but  in  a  little  while 
it  won't  be  so  bad.  And  when  you  're  used 
to  the  limelight  home  can't  keep  you.  There, 

152 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

now,  you  just  bawl  all  you  want  to.  When 
spring  comes  round  every  year  I  can't  hardly 
wait  until  the  run  's  up  and  I  go  home  to  my 
sister's ;  but  I  'm  not  there  longer  'n  a  month 
before  I  'm  hankering  after  the  show  business. 
Sometimes  I  hate  it,  but  I  can't  leave  it.  It 
keeps  calling  me  back  every  time  I  turn  my 
face  away.  And  if  you  've  made  up  your  mind 
it 's  the  only  thing  you  want,  you  've  got  to 
stick,  now  you  're  down,  or  you  '11  never  have 
another  happy  minute  in  your  life.  Ain't  it 
so,  Kate?" 

Kate,  with  curl-papers  tightly  wound  about 
her  head,  was  massaging  her  face  with  cold 
cream.  "  I  suppose  't  is.  Gosh,  how  I  used 
to  want  a  home  for  mother  an'  me  an'  the 
kid.  I  did  n't  come  because  I  was  crazy  to, 
but  because  I  was  starving.  I  didn't  care 
about  the  lights  and  the  play  and  the  clothes; 
I  wanted  bread  for  the  family.  And  all  the 
time  I  was  dancing  in  the  chorus  I  was  wish- 
ing I  could  dance  faster,  or  something,  than 

153 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

the  other  girls,  just  to  make  more  money.  It 's 
always  been  money,  darn  it  all !  " 

She  had  stopped  rubbing  her  face  while  lost 
in  recollection  of  her  earlier  years,  and  then, 
suddenly  realizing  that  she  was  going  too  deep 
into  old  wells,  she  applied  herself  vigorously 
to  rubbing  off  the  cream.  But  her  remarks 
had  set  the  other  woman  thinking. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  the  business  ?  ' 

"  Oh,  about  fourteen  years ;  went  on  when 
I  was  fifteen.  S'pose  I  '11  be  in  till  I  die ;  but 
I  'd  get  off  to-morrow  if  I  could." 

"  You  would  n't  stay  off." 

"Huh!    Wouldn't  I?" 

"  If  you  feel  like  that  you  'd  better  get 
married." 

"  That 's  my  own  business.  I  'm  waiting  for 
a  chance  at  the  only  one  —  see  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  get  into  '  legit '  for?  " 

"  '  Legit '  ?  "  answered  Kate ;  "  'cause  I  got 
sick  of  kicking  and  grinning  and  flirting  and 
being  rubbered  at  for  my  face.  You  need  n't 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

snicker.  I  was  pretty;  I  was  too  pretty,  and 
that 's  why  I  came  to  '  legit,'  so  's  I  could  do 
character  parts  and  get  rid  of  the  johnnies. 
And  now  if  you  're  a  lady  you  '11  get  out  and 
let  us  go  to  bed.  The  kid  's  dead  tired." 

The  "  heavy  lady  "  was  too  accustomed  to 
Kate's  outspoken  ways  to  take  offense,  unless 
she  were  in  the  mood  for  a  quarrel,  so  she 
trotted  off,  calling  good  night  from  the 
stairway. 

"  Good  night,"  bawled  Kate  as  she  closed 
the  door,  and,  turning,  she  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment gazing  tenderly  at  the  girl  lying  face 
downward  among  the  grimy  pillows.  Then 
she  turned  out  the  gas,  and  knelt  a  long  while 
in  the  dark  before  getting  into  bed.  When  she 
did,  Jane  gave  no  sign  that  she  was  still  awake. 
The  theatrical  profession  in  perspective  from 
Lake  Shore  Drive  and  the  actual  fact  of  a 
lumpy  bed  in  a  cold  and  grimy  room  were  two 
very  different  articles,  and  Jane  was  wonder- 
ing whether,  after  all,  it  was  worth  while. 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Rehearsal  the  next  day  was  equally  dis- 
heartening. The  theater  was  cold,  the  road 
manager  out  of  temper  and  more  than  usually 
profane.  But  Jane  got  through  her  small  part 
well,  had  a  good  dinner  and  a  brisk  walk,  and 
in  good  spirits  returned  to  the  theater  to  dress. 
Things  were  not  so  bad  after  all,  she  thought. 

There  was  an  atmosphere  of  excitement 
behind  the  scenes  now.  The  lights  were  on, 
the  orchestra  was  squeaking  an  overture, 
everybody  was  in  a  tremble  of  excitement  over 
the  success  or  failure  of  the  piece.  Jane  looked 
into  the  mirror  of  her  dressing-room  and  met 
a  fresh,  excited  face  on  which  there  seemed 
no  need  of  rouge  or  kohl.  She  was  dressed 
long  before  it  was  time  for  her  entrance,  and, 
walking  up  and  down  the  wings,  reveled  in  the 
artificiality  of  the  stage.  The  odor  of  her 
make-up,  her  costume,  the  very  "  distant  coun- 
try "  back-drop,  gave  her  a  delicious  thrill,  and 
when  at  last  her  cue  came  she  entered  left 
light  of  step. 

156 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

Kate  was  extravagant  afterwards  in  her 
praise  of  Jane's  success.  Perhaps  the  clothes 
that  she  had  so  freely  shared  had  something 
to  do  with  the  compliments;  perhaps  she  was 
only  anxious  to  encourage  a  beginner.  But  it 
sounded  sweet  to  Jane's  ears,  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  way  to  St.  Louis  Jane  played  up  to  the 
limit  allowed  by  the  lines  of  her  inconsequen- 
tial part.  Cold  rooms  in  second-class  hotels 
were  nothing  now,  though  Jane  still  shrank 
from  the  dismal  gray  sheets.  She  was  facing 
real  audiences,  playing  a  real  part,  drawing 
a  real  salary.  Jane  laughed  as  she  thought 
of  the  salary.  It  would  not  have  paid  for  her 
cabs  a  few  months  ago,  but  she  hugged  it  now. 
At  last  she  was  really  earning  some  money; 
she  was  of  use  enough  in  the  world  to  be  paid 
in  actual  business  cash  for  her  work. 

But  the  rest  of  the  company  did  not  share 
her  enthusiasm.  The  old  hands  squinted 
through  the  curtains  at  the  houses,  shook  their 
heads  and  prophesied  tie-passes  back  to  New 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

York  before  long.  In  St.  Louis  the  crash 
came.  '  The  Sister's  Revenge  "  ran  there  four 
nights  to  steadily  diminishing  business  and 
then  there  was  a  notice  of  disbandment  tacked 
to  the  bulletin-board,  at  which  the  company 
glanced  gloomily  and  straggled  out  of  the 
theater,  wondering  how  they  were  to  get 
home. 

Caroline  Mills  and  the  manager,  despondent 
and  discouraged,  left  on  the  morning  train, 
and  gradually  the  rest  of  the  company,  having 
borrowed  money  from  friends,  or  pulled  it  out 
of  a  reserve  roll  in  the  tops  of  their  stockings, 
followed  their  star.  Jane,  Kate  and  May,  the 
ingenue,  were  stranded,  and,  after  holding  a 
council  of  ways  and  means,  Jane  intrusted  to 
Kate  a  diamond  star,  on  which  that  resource- 
ful young  woman  raised  enough  money  to  buy 
their  tickets  back  to  New  York. 

Jane  insisted  on  a  pullman,  having  no  fond- 
ness for  the  orange-peel  and  crying  babies  of 
the  day  coach,  and,  although  Kate  and  May 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

were  a  little  awed  by  the  extravagance,  they 
readily  consented.  The  porter  glanced  dis- 
paragingly at  their  shabby  grips,  took  in  Jane's 
air  of  tailor-made  trimness  with  rising  ap- 
proval, and  was  galvanized  into  instant  activ- 
ity by  the  dollar  which  she  heedlessly  slipped 
into  his  hand. 

"  Seb'm,  eight  an1  nine,  ma'am ;  yes'm,  right 
this  way,  ma'am,"  he  nodded,  and,  picking  up 
their  luggage,  he  led  the  way  into  the  car,  Kate 
and  May  following,  and  Jane,  who  had  paused 
to  ask  a  question  of  the  conductor,  bringing 
up  the  rear. 

As  she  walked  along  the  narrow  passage, 
a  man  suddenly  opened  the  door  of  a  compart- 
ment, and,  almost  bumping  into  her,  stepped 
back  with  an  excuse  that  ended  in  a  grasp. 

"  Jane  Carrington !  " 

It  was  Walter  Scribner. 

The  sight  of  her  sent  the  hot  blood  into  his 
face  with  a  rush.  Jane's  presence  had  always 
affected  him  curiously,  and  the  suddenness  of 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

this  meeting,  combined  with  his  anger  at  her 
for  her  unexplained  desertion  of  him,  made 
his  senses  swim.  Before  she  could  make  up 
her  mind  which  way  to  turn,  he  grasped  her 
firmly  by  the  arms,  and  pushing  her  into  his 
compartment  locked  the  door  behind  them  and 
put  his  back  to  it. 

"Well,  my  lady!"  he  said. 

He  had  acted  on  impulse,  and  now  that  he 
had  her  inside  he  was  not  sure  what  he  in- 
tended to  do  with  her.  He  had  learned  that 
she  had  left  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  to  become  an 
actress,  and  wondered  cynically  how  Jane 
managed  to  live  on  the  salary  of  a  beginner. 
But  he  had  no  sure  weapon.  Perhaps  she 
might  betray  herself. 

Jane  had  wrenched  her  arm  free  from  his 
grasp,  drawing  back  to  the  farthest  confines 
of  the  narrow  space,  her  head  high  and  her 
eyes  defiant. 

"  Open  that  door !  "  she  commanded.  But 
he  only  smiled  an  unpleasant  smile  and  waited, 

1 60 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

glancing  from  the  little  tear  in  her  veil  to  the 
slightly  scuffed  toes  of  her  shoes.  Fear  seized 
her  heart  with  a  sickening  grip.  She  was  at 
bay,  and  this  time  there  was  no  way  out.  She 
changed  her  tactics. 

"  Walter !  This  is  not  like  you.  Please  open 
that  door." 

He  did  not  move.  His  mind  was  at  work 
now,  and  there  was  a  dangerous  glitter  in  his 
eyes.  Suddenly  she  realized  that  she  had  been 
watching  that  glitter  for  years. 

"  Maybe  you  broke  the  engagement,"  he 
said  with  a  curl  of  the  lip,  "  but  you  did  not 
end  the  bargain." 

"  There  is  no  bargain." 

"  I  think  "  —  his  jaws  set  —  "  that  there  is !  " 

"  I  returned  your  ring.  I  burned  your  let- 
ters. I  knew  very  well  you  could  exist  with- 
out me."  She  looked  at  him,  daring  him  to 
deny  it.  "  You  know  that  yourself." 

"  You  see  I  have  not  found  your  successor." 

She  tried  to  laugh  away  his  fierceness. 
161 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  You  are  posing,  Walter,  just  posing. 
You  know  it." 

"  You  have  a  bad  streak  in  you  somewhere, 
Jane,"  he  retorted  brutally. 

She  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  door, 
tight  shut  behind  him.  "  I  suppose  I  must  let 
you  say  that  —  Mr.  Scribner." 

"  And  more,  too,  Miss  Carrington !  You 
ran  away  from  home  —  have  lived  alone. 
Where?"  His  insinuation  now  was  unmis- 
takable. "  Nobody  knows  where." 

Again  Jane  eyed  the  door  at  his  back.  She 
leaned  against  one  of  the  seats  to  prevent  her- 
self from  falling  against  him  when  the  train 
gave  a  lurch.  He  was  not  blind  to  the  fierce 
resistance  of  her  attitude  and  it  infuriated 
him,  as  it  had  always  done.  He  moved  towards 
her,  his  eyes  alight.  Jane  made  herself  small 
in  the  farthest  corner,  but  faced  him.  And 
then,  mercifully,  there  was  a  knock  on  the 
door. 

For    an    instant    he    hesitated,    while   Jane 
162 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

prayed  internally,  and  then  he  opened  it  an 
inch. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked  gruffly. 

Two  conductors  stood  in  the  corridor. 

'  Tickets,"  said  one. 

"  You,  sir,  and  the  lady  ?  "  said  the  other. 

While  Walter  fumbled  angrily  in  his  pockets 
for  his  ticket,  Jane  walked  out  of  the  com- 
partment without  a  look  behind  or  a  syllable 
of  explanation. 

Walter  mumbled  something  to  the  effect 
that  she  was  his  stenographer,  and  that  a 
woman  in  the  car  ahead  had  her  ticket.  The 
conductors,  not  too  critical,  accepted  his  ex- 
planation and  passed  on,  leaving  Scribner 
furious  with  himself  for  the  way  he  had 
bungled  the  situation. 

Jane  made  her  way  through  the  coaches  until 
she  found  her  companions,  who  had  glimpsed 
her  recognition  by  a  "  swell  "  with  awe  and 
had  gone  on,  not  wanting,  as  they  expressed 
it,  "  to  butt  in."  Now  they  were  full  of  ques- 

163 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

tions,  and  Jane,  seeing  no  one  else  to  whom 
she  could  turn  for  protection,  told  them  briefly 
her  history,  and  explained  that  under  the  cir- 
cumstances she  did  not  want  to  see  much  of 
Scribner.  For  very  shame  she  did  not  de- 
scribe the  scene  in  the  compartment,  and,  quite 
unintentionally,  instead  of  inspiring  the  girls 
with  any  dread  of  her  ex-fiance,  she  made 
them  eager  to  see  him  again,  and  decidedly 
awed  by  the  fact  that  they  had  had  a  real 
"  society  girl  "  as  a  companion.  The  name  of 
Carrington  was  one  to  conjure  with,  even  here. 

As  for  Jane,  she  was  unnerved  by  the  scene 
she  had  undergone,  and  dreaded  lest  Scribner 
should  intrude  himself  upon  her  again.  Yet 
when  he  did  not  seek  her  she  was  still  more 
worried,  wondering  what  his  next  move  might 
be,  and  lay  awake  most  of  the  night  planning 
how  she  should  meet  possible  emergencies. 

Scribner  sat  up  late  in  his  compartment,  in 
a  turmoil  of  mind  foreign  to  his  cold  tempera- 
ment. He  had  made  a  mess  of  things,  as 

164 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

usual.  Why  the  devil  could  n't  he  control  him- 
self before  Jane  Carrington?  What  had  pos- 
sessed him  to  yield  to  impulse  and  drag  her 
into  his  compartment  in  that  fashion?  Why 
had  he  been  such  a  fool  as  to  drop  the  mask? 
He  bit  viciously  on  the  end  of  his  cigar.  He 
had  been  the  same  sort  of  fool  before.  There 
was  the  night  he  had  proposed  marriage  to  her 
—  he  moved  impatiently  in  the  soft  chair,  re- 
membering how  she  had  left  him  standing  with 
that  foolish  shawl  outspread  in  his  hands.  All 
through  their  engagement  she  had  made  him 
look  silly,  and  he  had  pressed  on  against  his 
better  judgment  while  the  debutantes  giggled. 
She  had  made  him  ridiculous  before  his  world, 
and,  when  the  broken  engagement  came  out, 
although  society  would  outwardly  commiser- 
ate, none  knew  better  than  he  how  it  would 
inwardly  sneer.  He,  Scribner,  to  be  caught 
by  a  pair  of  dark  eyes  and  then  thrown  igno- 
miniously  over  —  it  was  intolerable.  More 
than  that,  she  set  herself  against  him  —  gad ! 

165 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

how  handsome  she  had  looked  when  she  had 
faced  him  in  the  compartment !  She  had  made 
a  fool  of  him  all  along  the  line;  a  boy  of 
twenty  could  not  have  made  a  worse  mess  of 
this  episode  in  the  train  than  he  had  done. 
And  yet,  he  told  himself,  he  was  more  than 
a  match  for  her  if  he  could  only  stop  this 
cursed  foolishness  and  play  the  game  with  his 
brains. 

"  By  gad,  I  will !  "  he  said  half  aloud.  "  I  '11 
break  her  impudent  spirit  if  I  have  to  break 
her  proud  neck!  "  Throwing  away  his  ragged 
cigar,  he  selected  a  fresh  one  and  settled  down 
to  reflect,  his  yellow-gray  eyes  narrowing  un- 
pleasantly and  one  ugly  tooth  set  on  his 
lower  lip. 

There  were  other  ways,  he  ruminated ;  there 
were  other  ways.  An  actress,  eh?  and  down 
on  her  luck.  Scribner  knew  the  theatrical 
world  well,  especially  the  cruel,  seamy  side 
of  it,  and  he  flattered  himself  that  he  could 
show  Jane  a  trick  or  two  at  her  own  game. 

166 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

Jane  on  her  knees  was  a  picture  on  which  he 
dwelt  with  appetite.  He  sat  there  smoking 
and  thinking  until  after  midnight,  and  went 
to  bed  determined  to  be  especially  nice  to  Jane 
in  the  morning. 

So  when  the  meeting  which  Jane  dreaded 
finally  came,  it  was  much  less  unpleasant  than 
she  had  feared.  Scribner  explained  that  he 
was  going  east,  brought  a  peace-offering  of 
such  roses  as  Jane  had  not  owned  for  months, 
asked  her  and  her  friends  to  luncheon,  and 
skillfully  engineered  a  tete-a-tete  with  Jane  in 
a  vacant  section  near-by.  Kate  and  May  were 
completely  won  by  his  manners,  and  Jane  was 
so  relieved  by  his  change  of  front  that  she 
acquiesced  in  his  apology  for  his  hasty  action 
of  the  day  before,  and  thanked  fortune  that 
evidently  no  emergencies  would  need  to  be  met 
after  all. 

Scribner,  on  his  part,  having  made  his  first 
move  and  established  reasonably  amicable  re- 
lations, guided  the  conversation  easily  from 

167 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

remarks  on  the  weather  to  the  subject  of  her 
health  and  her  home. 

*  Your  father  grieves  deeply,  Jane,"  he  told 
her.  "  Leslie  tells  me  he  never  speaks  at  home. 
Your  mother  is  broken-hearted.  Why  not 
come  back?  " 

She  dissented. 

!<  I  have  found  my  place,"  she  said  quietly. 
''  The  theater  gives  me  the  first  real  thing  of 
my  life.  It  is  quite  too  late  now  to  urge  me 
to  break  away  from  it." 

"  But,  Jane,  you  are  disgracing  them." 

Again  she  dissented. 

'"'  We  argue  from  different  standards,  as  I 
have  often  told  you.  I  do  not  think  that  hon- 
est work  is  half  so  much  a  disgrace  as  spong- 
ing on  father  for  a  living  and  frittering  away 
my  time  on  a  painted  lie  of  a  life.  But,  speak- 
ing from  the  worldly  point  of  view,  I  am  not 
using  their  name,  and  so  no  social  disgrace 
can  attach  to  them.  Everybody  thinks  that 
I  am  in  Europe  with  Mrs.  Van  Mueller.  She 

1 68 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

never  answered  my  letter,  for  of  course  I 
did  n't  deserve  it ;  but  she  has  been  good 
enough  not  to  tell." 

"  No ;  only  a  few  people  know  —  friends  of 
the  family.  She  has  even  explained  to  those 
who  have  met  her  party  abroad  that  you  are 
visiting  your  own  friends." 

"  Has  she  indeed?  "  said  Jane,  her  eyes  fill- 
ing with  tears.  Evidently  she  had  misjudged 
Mrs.  Van  Mueller. 

"  She  has  been  very  considerate,"  said 
Walter.  "  Now,  Jane,  why  don't  you  drop  this 
idea  of  yours  and  come  back?  Everything 
could  be  just  as  if  these  few  weeks  never  had 
happened.  You  could  make  your  father  and 
mother  happy,  and  outside  of  a  dozen  friends, 
no  one  need  ever  know  of  your  escapade." 

He  waited.  Perhaps  he  could  save  his- face, 
after  all.  If  he  could  get  Jane  back  and  then 
throw  her  over  there  would  be  good  points 
about  that,  too. 

But  Jane  shook  her  head. 
169 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  It 's  no  use  talking,  Walter.  I  can't  and 
won't.  I  'm  dreadfully  sorry  to  hurt  father 
and  mother,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  've  just  got 
to  go  on.  Please  don't  urge  me  any  more. 
You  have  n't  told  me  if  Leslie  is  well.  How 
is  she  looking?  " 

Scribner  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  whis- 
tled revenge  number  one  away  for  good-and- 
all.  Now  —  let  her  look  out  for  herself.  He 
would  have  no  mercy. 

"  Leslie  is  looking  very  well,"  he  answered 
smoothly.  "  She  is  growing  prettier  every  day 
and  is  getting  to  be  quite  a  belle.  I  met  her 
at  Mrs.  Raymond's  dance  last  week  and  she 
was  six  deep  in  men.  None  of  the  other  girls 
compare  with  her." 

Jane  smiled  proudly  at  that ;  Leslie  evidently 
was  doing  justice  to  her  training.  The  con- 
versation turned  to  other  things  and  Jane  kept 
it  well  on  the  surface.  All  the  way  to  New 
York  Scribner  went  out  of  his  way  to  be  de- 
lightful, as  he  knew  well  how  to  be.  Kate 

170 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

and  May  were  charmed  by  his  courtesy  to  the 
point  of  adoration,  and  even  Jane  could  find 
no  fault.  Yet  somehow,  remembering  that 
ugly  glitter  in  his  eyes,  she  distrusted  him,  and 
in  spite  of  his  unexceptionable  manners  and 
unfailing  thoughtfulness  the  feeling  instinc- 
tively grew.  He  called  a  taxicab  in  New  York 
and  escorted  them  to  their  boarding-house, 
exacting  several  promises  from  Jane  to  dine 
with  him.  Jane  accepted  because  there  was  no 
plausible  reason  for  her  to  refuse.  He  never 
mentioned  their  broken  engagement  and  no 
longer  touched  upon  home  topics.  He  acted 
as  if  he  were  content  to  have  Jane  on  the 
stage,  satisfied  to  be  with  her  for  the  delight 
of  her  society  alone,  as  if  he  were  graciously 
accepting  the  inevitable.  In  fact,  when  Kate 
and  May  procured  engagements  in  companies 
playing  out  of  town,  Jane  was  glad  to  look  to 
Walter  for  companionship. 

No  one  would  give  her  an  engagement ;  not 

an  agency  in  the  city  could  place  her.     Day 

171 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

after  day  she  went  the  rounds,  meeting  Scrib- 
ner  at  dinner  every  night  with  the  same  an- 
swer on  her  lips.  She  had  hope  for  a  long 
time ;  in  fact,  Walter  was  beginning  to  despair 
of  her  ever  losing  it,  when  at  last  one  night 
he  saw  the  first  signs  of  real  unhappiness  creep- 
ing into  her  eyes.  The  next  day  she  was  ill 
at  ease ;  the  next  so  desperately  hungry  at  din- 
ner that  he  suspected  she  had  fasted  too  long; 
the  next  night  it  was  the  same,  and  her  hands 
trembled. 

"  I  can't  try  any  longer ;  there  's  not  an  en- 
gagement anywhere  for  me.  I  have  gone  to 
the  offices  so  much  that  the  men  look  at  me 
queerly  when  I  come  in  and  whisper  to  each 
other.  My  very  pride  bars  me  now.  I  can't 
endure  another  '  Sorry '  and  the  shrug  that 
goes  with  it."  Walter  commiserated  with 
her. 

The  next  night  there  was  anger  in  Jane's 
eyes,  as  well  as  despair. 

"  Have  you  had  no  offer  at  all  ? "  asked 
172 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

Walter  carelessly,  picking  up  the  Waldorf 
menu  to  select  the  dinner. 

"  Only  one.  Musical  comedy,  which,  of 
course,  I  refused." 

"  It  was  a  good  part  though,  was  n't  it  ?  " 
said  Walter,  checking  off  oyster  cocktails  and 
soup  for  two. 

"  No."    Jane  frowned. 

"  Not  good  ?  I  thought  you  told  me  Brothers 
&  Lang  offered  you  a  place  in  the  chorus  with 
positive  promotion  to  principal  within  a  month." 

"  Yes,"  —  Jane  bit  her  lip,  as  if  to  avoid  say- 
ing all  she  knew  —  "  but  I  do  not  accept  such 
offers  when  they  are  accompanied  by  guar- 
antees of  wealthy  backing.  I  am  not  in  for 
the  musical  comedy  game  in  New  York." 

"  I  don't  follow  you,"  replied  Walter,  com- 
pleting his  order  and  handing  it  to  the 
waiter. 

Jane  looked  away  as  she  repeated  the  sub- 
stance of  her  remark. 

"  Brothers  &  Lang  want  me   for  musical 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

comedy.  They  have  had  some  offer  and  they 
insist  upon  my  coming.  I  have  refused  and 
refused,  and  to-day  I  learned  that  I  have 
merely  wasted  my  time  these  last  two  weeks 
going  to  other  agencies.  Brothers  &  Lang  sent 
out  word  not  to  give  Cecelia  South  an  engage- 
ment. They  think  that  by  closing  all  doors 
to  me  they  can  force  me  into  their  show." 

"  And  can't  they?  "  asked  Walter  carelessly, 
as  he  buttered  a  piece  of  roll. 

"  No." 

'What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

Jane  looked  hopelessly  at  the  women  and 
men  at  the  tables  about  her,  then  out  of  the 
dark  night  window.  ''  I  don't  know." 

A  gleam  came  into  Walter's  eyes.  He  toyed 
nervously  with  a  piece  of  bread  in  his  fingers. 

:<  Why  resist  so  good  an  offer  in  musical 
comedy?  Why  not  accept?" 

Jane  sent  him  a  quick  keen  look,  feeling  as 
if  her  heart  had  stopped. 

'  You  —  you  —  suggest  —  that  I  accept  ?  " 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

Walter  looked  at  her  steadily  this  time,  so 
steadily  that  it  frightened  her. 

"Why  not  — if  I  am  the  backer?" 
It  took  a  full  minute  for  Jane  to  put  two 
and  two  together,  but  when  she  had  done  so 
she  was  very  pale,  and  got  up  slowly,  with 
the  greatest  dignity  restraining  her  quivering 
fury.  The  stare  of  a  hundred  eyes  in  the 
Waldorf  dining-room  forbade  anything  save 
the  most  conventional  behavior,  but  she  gave 
Walter  one  look,  aflame  like  living  coals,  and 
walked  out  —  out  of  the  warm  room,  away 
from  the  food  she  had  not  yet  touched,  out 
into  the  mosaic  hall  —  to  the  big  glass 
doors. 


CHAPTER   VII 

The  Waldorf  is  a  cosmopolitan  place.  In 
the  corridors,  always,  are  crowds  of  men  who 
come  in  from  the  street  to  consult  time-tables, 
buy  newspapers,  do  their  telephoning,  or  take 
advantage  of  sundry  attractive  purchasing 
opportunities. 

Since  her  arrival  in  New  York,  Jane  had 
seen  many  of  her  friends  from  time  to  time, 
but  had  not  let  herself  be  recognized,  the  brim 
of  her  hat  and  a  thick  veil  concealing  her  iden- 
tity. But  to-night,  as  she  walked  out  of  the 
dining-room  alone,  she  forgot  her  veil  and  her 
need  of  disguise. 

As  she  passed  into  a  triangle  of  the  revolv- 
ing glass  door  to  go  out,  she  chanced  to  glance 
at  the  man  in  the  next  triangle  coming  in. 
Their  eyes  met  and  a  puzzled  look  of  recog- 
nition crept  into  both  faces.  Jane,  terrified  by 

176 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

the  thought  of  being  recognized,  hastily  at- 
tempted to  pull  down  her  veil,  missed  her  op- 
portunity to  get  out  of  her  triangle,  and  had 
to  walk  around  again.  The  man,  thinking  she 
was  coming  back  to  speak  to  him,  waited  in 
the  hall,  but  she  passed  and  hurried  into  the 
open  towards  Broadway.  Looking  neither  to 
right  nor  to  left,  she  walked  straight  ahead, 
bravely  through  the  dark  portions  of  the 
streets,  confidently  through  the  glaring  por- 
tions, and  did  not  stop  until  she  had  reached 
the  chipped  stone  stoop  of  her  dilapidated 
boarding-house.  When  she  dared  to  look 
around,  there  was  only  a  peaceful  citizen  be- 
hind her,  evidently  about  to  pass  the  house 
without  a  glance  in  its  direction.  Greatly  re- 
lieved, Jane  walked  into  the  gas-lit  hall  and 
felt  her  way  up  the  old-fashioned  winding 
stairs  to  her  tiny  room. 

It  was  an  ordinary,  nondescript,  plain  back 
room,  with  necessary  furniture,  unsatisfactory 

light  and  unreliable  heat.    There  was  not  even 

177 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

a  grate  to  suggest  a  pathetic  lack  of  coal  or 
the  sadness  of  dying  embers  —  instead,  a  dis- 
mal black  register  in  the  floor,  whence  a  faint 
warmth  sometimes  oozed  into  the  room.  While 
sitting  near  it  to  thaw  out,  Jane  had  a  talk 
with  herself  about  "  the  life." 

For  the  first  time  in  her  existence,  she  felt, 
she  was  face  to  face  with  that  world  which 
she  had  so  long  hungered  to  see,  and  the  real- 
ization that  it  had  no  respect  for  her  gave  her 
a  shock  of  surprise,  chagrin  and  pain.  She 
was  hungry,  without  money,  friendless,  with 
the  gates  of  her  chosen  field  closed  to  her. 
What  was  she  to  do  ?  Where  should  she  turn  ? 

She  felt  of  her  drabbled  skirt  to  see  if  it 
was  drying,  and  thought  of  her  dainty  room 
overlooking  the  lake.  Should  she  go  home? 
Yes,  they  would  take  her  back.  What  then? 
Marry  Scribner?  Impossible!  Take  up  the 
old  life?  Again,  impossible!  The  theater  had 
called  for  its  own  in  her,  and  had  claimed  her 
heart,  even  though  now  it  cast  her  off.  Go  to 

178 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

wealthy  New  York  friends  for  temporary  as- 
sistance? Perhaps,  —  but  would  they  give  it? 
Would  they  not  rather  notify  her  family? 
Grant  that  they  protected  her  temporarily,  how 
about  the  future? 

To  be  sure,  there  were  trunks  filled  with 
beautiful  gowns,  but  Jane  Carrington  could  not 
sell  a  piece  of  clothing.  Pawning  jewels  was 
different  —  queens  had  done  that.  Besides,  if 
she  got  an  engagement  they  might  save  her 
the  expense  of  costumes.  As  to  the  musical 
comedy  suggestion  —  she  shuddered  at  the  rec- 
ollection of  Walter  Scribner's  greedy  eyes. 
Find  some  other  work  ?  She,  Jane  Carrington, 
behind  a  counter?  Well,  why  not?  Work  is 
honest  —  and  there  is  torture  in  hunger. 

To  be  sure,  there  is  always  the  last  resource 

—  a  defective  gas-jet,  one  pistol  shot,  an  over- 
dose of  a  drug,  the  river.    She  decided  in  favor 
of  escaping  gas.    It  was  less  sensational,  more 
plausible.     She  must  not  give  a  theatric  effect 

—  that  had  been  overdone.     Gas  would  leave 

179 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

people  in  doubt,  and  there  is  something  ar- 
tistic in  doubt,  although  gas  is  really  not  very 
aesthetic.  She  wished  she  could  think  of  some 
more  aesthetic  way.  Starving  was  pathetic, 
but  it  was  so  painful.  This  thought  reminded 
her  that  she  was  hungry.  Stupid!  Why 
could  n't  she  have  eaten  all  of  the  Waldorf 
roll  before  she  had  understood  Scribner  ?  Why 
had  she  nibbled  so  little  of  it  in  anticipating 
the  delight  of  the  dinner  he  had  ordered? 

How  could  society  tolerate  men  like  Scrib- 
ner—  and  Brothers  &  Lang?  How  was  it 
possible  that  men  dared  to  establish  such  fiend- 
ish organizations?  Could  nothing  be  done? 
Could  there  be  no  reform?  If  she  became  a 
star,  could  she  not  be  known  for  her  wonder- 
ful character,  could  she  not  stand  for  the  ele- 
vation of  the  stage  and  the  triumph  of  the 
good  and  beautiful?  Was  it  not  a  wonderful 
goal  to  strive  for?  Was  it  not  an  honor  to 
be  a  martyr  for  it  if  need  be?  Was  it  not  an 
ideal  worth  dying  for? 

180 


THE   SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

At  this  point  in  her  light-headed  wander- 
ings Jane  fainted,  and  fell  with  a  sharp  cry. 
The  noise  and  the  chandeliers  rattling  down- 
stairs brought  Mrs.  Kelly,  the  landlady,  upon 
the  scene.  She  was  not  a  hard-hearted  land- 
lady, neither  a  story-book  ogre,  nor  an  angel 
in  disguise,  but  just  a  plain,  ordinary  land- 
lady, with  her  own  rent  to  pay  and  her  own 
bread  to  win.  She  had  the  lock  broken  when 
there  was  no  answer  to  her  knocking,  and 
added  the  price  of  repairs  to  Miss  South's 
already  overdue  bill.  Miss  South  was  given 
a  cup  of  tea  and  some  bread,  and  then  was 
asked  to  pay  or  vacate.  Miss  South  promised 
to  pay  the  next  day,  thanked  her  rescuers,  set 
a  chair  against  the  door  which  would  not  stay 
shut,  and  sat  down  once  more  face  to  face 
with  her  problem. 

She  felt  that  she  did  not  have  a  friend  in 
the  world.  In  that  colossal,  teeming  city  she 
was  alone,  a  being  apart  from  humanity,  an 
isolated  atom  of  wretchedness.  That  gas  was 

181 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

really  a  good  idea  —  why  not  ?  Jane's  lumi- 
nous eyes  traveled  to  the  sputtering  blue  flame. 
She  even  rose  to  go  to  it,  and  then  stopped 
half-way,  struck  suddenly  by  the  absurdity  of 
her  action. 

Her  dramatic  sense,  that  peculiar  power  in 
her  which  could  detach  itself  from  her  ordi- 
nary entity  and,  standing  apart,  could  criticize 
her  actions  and  make  mental  note  of  them  for 
future  use,  saved  her.  Years  ago,  when  a 
snake  had  glided  between  Jane  and  Leslie,  that 
same  sense  had  watched  Leslie's  expression 
while  Jane  had  stepped  back  in  fright.  And 
now  Jane,  the  artist,  watched  Jane,  the  woman, 
and  laughed. 

"You  little  fool,"  the  artist  said.  "That 
is  good  stage  business,  but  ridiculous  in  reality. 
Feeling  sorry  for  yourself,  are  n't  you  ?  Poor 
dear  thing,  not  a  friend  in  the  world !  It 's 
really  too  bad  about  you,  is  n't  it  ?  Keep  right 
on  with  your  melancholy,  my  dear,  pity  your- 
self, weave  just  the  sweetest  sad  story  about 

183 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

yourself  alone  in  New  York,  terrible  New 
York,  with  not  a  penny  for  food  and  the  room 
rent  due  and  every  door  in  the  city  closed  to 
you!  Genius  struggling  under  the  weight  of 
poverty  —  dreadful,  is  n't  it  ?  Keep  up  the 
pose,  my  dear;  walk  the  streets  in  despair. 
Perhaps  a  painter  will  draw  you  in  your  artis- 
tic rags,  perhaps  an  author  will  write  a  story 
about  you  —  go  on  —  keep  it  up  —  act  the  des- 
titute heroine  —  let  me,  the  actress  in  you, 
applaud  your  business." 

"  I  was  only  a  despairing  girl,"  cried  Jane, 
the  woman. 

The  artist  laughed  again.  "  Very  well !  But 
because  you  can  picture  yourself  the  heroine 
in  a  tragedy  are  you  incapable  of  making  your- 
self a  heroine  in  a  comedy?  " 

"  But  how?  "  said  Jane,  the  woman. 

"Stupid!"  retorted  Jane,  the  artist.  "Do 
you  think  you  are  the  only  one  in  New  York? 
Is  your  egotism  so  great  that  you  cannot  real- 
ize that  there  are  thousands  like  you,  and  even 

183 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

worse  off?  Think  of  each  one  imagining  he 
has  a  corner  in  wretchedness  ?  Oh,  it  is  funny ! 
Go  out,  forget  yourself,  work  at  anything,  think 
of  other  people.  What?  You  said  you  had 
no  friends  ?  Laugh  at  yourself  for  that.  Chi- 
cago and  New  York  are  both  full  of  them. 
You  won't  go  to  them?  Ah,  that  is  another 
matter.  Laugh  at  your  pride,  not  at  circum- 
stance. No  money?  You  sent  your  letter  of 
credit  home  yourself?  Fine!  That  was  right. 
You  are  not  regretting  so  worthy  a  deed,  are 
you?  Come,  you  ought  to  be  poor.  It  is  time 
you  learned  how  the  other  half  lives.  You 
are  getting  your  course  in  human  nature,  you 
are  in  the  school  of  the  world.  Be  glad  of 
your  chance  and  smile." 

Then  Jane,  the  artist,  and  Jane,  the  woman, 
came  face  to  face  in  the  mirror,  and  both  were 
smiling. 

The  next  day  was  no  sunnier  than  the  one 
before,  but  Jane  was  quite  certain  that  the 
mists  were  lifting,  and  she  went  out  into  the 

184 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

snowy  streets  almost  gayly.  At  Thirty-Fourth 
Street  she  helped  an  old  woman  cross  Broad- 
way, and  when  a  begging  child  ran  along  be- 
side her  she  had  no  money  to  give  him,  but 
she  called  him  a  dear  little  fellow  and  said 
she  wished  she  had.  What  she  was  to  do, 
how  she  intended  to  buy  luncheon  and  dinner, 
she  had  no  idea,  but  she  walked  on,  possessed 
by  a  Micawber-like  faith  that  something  was 
bound  to  turn  up  before  she  was  compelled 
to  pawn  the  pearl  necklace,  her  father's  gift, 
that  lay  hidden  under  her  severe  collar. 

All  day  she  wandered  about,  looking  for 
"  Help  Wanted  "  signs  in  the  shop  windows ; 
straying  into  an  employment  office  which 
reeked  so  of  unwashed  humanity  that  she  stag- 
gered out,  half- fainting;  making  the  fruitless 
rounds  of  the  dramatic  agencies  again;  and 
finally  spending  the  afternoon  in  the  rest-room 
of  a  big  department  store,  where  at  least  it  was 
warm.  But  at  six  even  that  haven  closed, 
and  Jane  walked  reluctantly  out  into  the  chill 

185 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

dusk,  reaching  a  hand  up  to  where  the  neck- 
lace lay  hidden.  Should  she  —  or  not?  She 
paused  on  the  street  corner  uncertainly,  and 
then  stamped  her  foot. 

To-morrow,  if  she  must;  but  not  to-night. 
Resolutely  she  turned  her  tired  feet  towards 
the  dingy  boarding-house  that  she  called  home. 

It  was  rapidly  growing  dark,  and  Jane  quick- 
ened her  pace  along  the  empty  residence  streets. 
Was  some  one  following  her?  Jane  had  been 
nervous  about  that  several  times  lately.  Or 
was  the  tall  man  behind  her  merely  a  peaceful 
householder  walking  home  to  his  dinner  ?  Jane 
eyed  him  doubtfully,  hurried  even  faster,  and 
dived  at  last  into  her  own  burrow  with  a  beat- 
ing heart. 

"That  you,  Miss  South?" 

The  landlady's  voice  penetrated  the  fried- 
onion  atmosphere  of  the  hall  like  a  fork,  and 
struck  terror  to  the  pit  of  Jane's  empty 
stomach.  Until  this  moment  she  had  forgot- 
ten that  to-night  Miss  South  must  "  pay  or 

186 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

vacate,"  and,  clutching  her  flat  purse,  she 
leaned  against  the  newel-post  with  no  heart 
to  do  battle.  The  landlady  flopped  along  the 
hall  ominously,  talking  as  she  came. 

"  You  got  my  room-rent  to-night,  Miss 
South  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  I  'm  a  tender-hearted 
woman,  Miss  South,  but  since  He  was  took 
(Mrs.  Kelly  always  referred  to  the  late  Mr. 
Kelly  with  the  capitalized  pronoun  reserved 
for  the  Deity)  I  ain't  got  no  man  to  see  I 
ain't  scrowged  on,  an'  with  the  gas-bill  what 
it  is,  —  not  that  they  don't  charge  you  whether 
you  burn  it  or  don't  burn  it,  —  an'  coal  ten  dol- 
lars a  ton,  an'  poor  stuff  at  that,  an'  folks 
wantin'  the  best  of  isters  an'  chicken  an'  vege- 
tables, in  season  or  the  depth  of  Jenooary  — 
though  when  He  was  alive  I  could  'a'  fed  'em 
hot-house  strawberries  like  as  if  they  'd  been 
water  —  which  I  mean  to  say,  Miss  South, 
I  'm  a  widder,  an'  I  must  have  the  cash  money 
this  evenin',  an'  no  foolin',  or  kindly  ask  you 
to  leave." 

187 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Before  Jane  could  frame  a  reply,  Mrs. 
Kelly's  flight  of  oratory  was  punctuated  by  a 
tinkle  of  the  rickety  door-bell,  and  she  waddled 
to  the  door,  admitting  some  one  after  a  short 
parley. 

"  There  ain't  no  party  here  by  that  name, 
young  man;  but  here's  Miss  South,  she  jest 
come  in,  an'  the  first  for  fifteen  minutes,  so 
if  you  mean  her,  here  she  is."  Then,  turning 
to  Jane,  "  I  '11  see  you  again  about  that  rent 
after  your  young  man  is  went." 

Jane  rose  uncertainly  from  the  step,  expect- 
ing she  knew  not  what.  The  tall  stranger 
removed  his  hat,  with  a  greeting,  and  she 
gasped.  It  was  Bryce  Gordon. 

In  silence  they  stared  at  each  other,  while 
the  landlady's  slippers  flopped  down  the  hall. 
Then  Mrs.  Kelly,  with  her  hand  on  the  kitchen 
door-knob,  flung  back  one  last  Parthian  arrow : 

"  Three  dollars  an'  seventy-five  cents. 
Them  's  my  last  words,  an'  when  I  say  'em, 

I  mean  'em !  " 

188 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

Jane's  lips  twitched  in  spite  of  her,  and 
Bryce,  throwing  back  his  head,  laughed  boy- 
ishly. 

"That's  got  Little  Eva  skinned  a  block," 
he  chuckled.  "  As  last  words,  those  are 
peaches.  Come  into  the  mausoleum  and  let 's 
blow  out  the  gas." 

He  turned  cheerily  into  the  grisly  parlor  — 
all  boarding-houses  are  alike  —  and  felt  for 
the  gas-jet  with  the  ease  of  practice.  With 
something  half-way  between  a  sob  and  a  laugh, 
Jane  followed  him,  and  when  he  held  out  his 
hand  she  put  hers  into  it  with  the  sense  of  hav- 
ing found  a  friend. 

"  So  you  remember  me,"  he  said,  ignoring 
her  confusion.  "  The  charity  play  is  a  long 
time  ago." 

''  Indeed  I  do,"  answered  Jane.  It  was  the 
first  word  she  had  spoken.  "  You  gave  me 
something  to  think  about  that  night.  I  've 
often  wished  I  could  talk  to  you  again." 

'''  Well,  here  I  am  to  be  talked  to  —  go  as 
189 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

far  as  you  like,"  he  replied  cheerfully.  "  I 
saw  you  in  the  Waldorf,  you  know,  and  I  've 
had  the  greatest  kind  of  adventure  unraveling 
you  since  —  regular  Arabian  Night." 

:(  How  much  do  you  know,  Caliph?  "  Jane, 
in  spite  of  her  hunger,  could  banter  again. 

"  Not  half  enough.  Suppose  you  tell  me. 
Wait,  though  —  no !  It 's  my  night  to  howl 
over  at  the  quarters,  and  there  '11  be  a  bunch 
of  ruffians  there.  Don't  you  want  to  come 
along  with  me  and  pick  up  Mrs.  Beecher- 
you  know  her,  the  play-agent  ?  —  and  when 
the  clans  have  gathered  you  will  have  a  glimpse 
of  what  you  '11  probably  insist  on  calling 
Bohemia." 

Jane's  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears  of 
weakness,  and  Bryce  turned  away  to  the  old 
piano,  giving  her  an  opportunity  to  hide 
them.  - 

"  Run  along  now  and  wash  your  face,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  '11  play  '  Rock  of  Ages '  on  this 
bag-o'-bones  to  amuse  Mrs.  Cerberus  while 

190 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

you  get  ready.  But  I  warn  you,  no  Sunday 
edition." 

"  Sunday  edition  ?  I  'm  not  a  colored  sup- 
plement," protested  Jane  in  mock  indigna- 
tion, albeit  with  an  uncertain  note  in  her 
voice. 

"  Sunday  edition  —  go-to-meetin'  black  satin 
-dingle-dangles  and  herring-bones  and 
feather-stitches,  and  things  like  that,"  ex- 
plained Bryce  over  his  shoulder  as  he  swung 
into  "  Funiculi  Funicula."  ''  Just  wear  your 
street  clothes ;  you  '11  be  mobbed  else." 

"  All  right,"  said  Jane,  feeling  relieved  that 
she  did  not  have  to  dress.  "  I  '11  be  down  in 
ten  minutes."  And  then  at  the  door  she  hesi- 
tated half  a  second.  "  How  —  how  late  does 
it  last?"  she  inquired.  After  all,  she  knew 
nothing  of  Bryce  Gordon. 

He  glanced  up  keenly  and,  leaving  "  Funic- 
uli "  in  the  middle  of  a  bar,  strode  swiftly 
over  to  Jane. 

"  Look  here !  "  he  said  roughly,  and  Jane, 
191 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

already  ashamed  of  herself,  looked  into  his 
steady  gray  eyes  from  which  all  the  fun  had 
vanished,  leaving  a  wisdom,  a  sympathy,  al- 
most a  tenderness  that  touched  Jane  to  her 
very  heart.  The  suspicion  faded  from  her  own 
eyes,  the  hardness  melted,  and  instead  of  a 
woman  in  armed  defense  it  was  suddenly  a 
little  girl  that  returned  his  gaze  bravely.  He 
smiled  at  her  reassuringly. 

"  Is  it  all  right  now  ?  "  he  asked.  And  Jane, 
nodding,  scampered  up  the  stairs,  illogically 
but  nevertheless  certainly  assured  of  Bryce 
Gordon's  faith.  The  merry  chorus  of  "  Funic- 
uli  Funicula  "  pursued  her. 

Ten  minutes  later  they  swung  off  together 
through  the  falling  snow,  more  like  old  friends 
than  acquaintances  who  had  met  only  twice, 
and  Jane  was  telling  Bryce  such  of  her  story 
as  he  had  not  already  succeeded  in  ferreting 
out. 

Gordon  knew  more  of  Jane's  story  than  she 

fancied.     Her   face,   seen  through  the  glass 

192 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

door  of  the  Waldorf,  had  made  him  uneasy, 
and  her  confusion  at  sight  of  him  had  increased 
his  puzzlement.  A  few  judicious  questions  at 
the  agencies  had  done  the  rest,  and  it  was 
the  indignation  of  a  knight  for  a  captive 
princess  rather  than  curiosity  that  had  carried 
him  on  his  Arabian  Night  quest.  In  spite  of 
Bryce's  experience  with  the  world,  he  had  not 
acquired  the  cynical  passivity  in  the  face  of 
wrong  that  in  Scribner  had  once  so  shocked 
Leslie.  He  admired  Jane  for  her  pluck,  pitied 
her  for  her  defenseless  ignorance  of  the  hard 
world,  and  discounted  her  vanity  completely. 
So  as  they  kept  step  through  the  snow-wreath 
he  listened  courteously  to  as  much  of  her  story 
as  she  chose  to  tell  him,  laughing  gayly  at  her 
little  attempts  to  make  an  amusing  tale  of  her 
experiences,  and  wondering  how  best  he  could 
play  the  god  from  the  machine. 

Jane  on  her  part  chattered  away,  glad  to 
talk  to  somebody  who  knew  her  language 
again;  and  by  the  time  they  had  picked  up 

193 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE' 

white-haired,  merry  Mrs.  Beecher  and  gained 
the  dismal  entrance  to  Bryce's  building,  she 
had  almost  forgotten  her  empty  stomach  and 
flat  purse.  When  they  entered  the  low  door- 
way of  Bryce's  quarters,  she  forgot  them 
completely. 

Flickering  firelight  and  the  pungent  odor  of 
burning  pine,  golden  darts  of  candle-flame,  blue 
tobacco-smoke  and  a  group  of  thoroughly 
comfortable-looking  people  were  Jane's  first 
vivid  impression  of  the  place,  before  she  was 
swallowed  in  hospitality.  A  big,  yellow-haired 
man  with  the  face  of  a  viking  took  off  her 
coat,  and  was  introduced  as  "  Oswald,  who 
paints  and  sculps."  She  had  seen  his  work 
at  the  Metropolitan  and  regarded  him  as 
a  genius  unapproachable.  Somebody  named 
*  Jim,"  with  a  lop-sided,  engaging  face  and 
twinkling  brown  eyes,  took  her  hat  and  furs. 
Later  she  heard  somebody  call  him  by  his  full 
name  and  knew  him  for  a  "  best  seller."  And 

a  wizened-up  little  woman,  who  was  "  Sadie  " 

194 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

to  the  group,  poured  her  a  cup  of  tea  with  as 
motherly  a  graciousness  as  if  she  had  not 
written  a  series  of  startling  magazine  articles 
that  were  advertised  from  one  end  of  the  coun- 
try to  the  other.  The  viking  put  her  in  a  big 
chair  by  the  fire,  saw  that  her  tea  suited  her, 
and  the  whole  company  fell  to  talking  again 
where  the  entrance  of  their  host  and  his  guests 
had  interrupted  the  discussion. 

As  for  Bryce,  he  hunted  among  the  litter 
of  papers  on  the  workmanlike  desk  that  domi- 
nated the  room,  found  his  pipe  and  filled  it 
comfortably.  The  comic  opera  librettist  sit- 
ting next  Jane  passed  her  his  cigarette-case 
with  the  air  of  one  realizing  an  omission,  but 
Jane  refused  with  a  smile.  Miss  Dennison, 
worker  in  hand-made  jewelry,  reached  across 
her  shoulder  and  annexed  the  case. 

"  I  '11  make  you  a  better  one  than  that, 
Joker,"  she  commented,  extracting  an  Egyp- 
tian cigarette  and  lighting  it  at  a  candle. 
"  Gordon,  show  him  yours." 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Gordon  got  out  his  case,  a  hand-hammered 
silver  one,  with  a  coat-of-arms  in  blue  enamel 
in  one  corner  and  a  tiny  turquoise  studding 
the  clasp. 

'  What  is  the  crest?  "  asked  Jane  softly. 

"  Old  southern  family  —  war  —  lost  every- 
thing—  never  recovered.  Motto  faithfulness 
—  blue  is  for  true,"  explained  Miss  Dennison, 
equally  underbreath.  "  That 's  the  only  thing 
his  father  left  him  —  killed  at  Bull  Run  —  sent 
the  case  back  by  a  comrade  —  body  never 
found." 

'  You  're  forgetting  the  tapestry,"  put  in 
Jim,  nodding  towards  the  long  piece  above  the 
fireplace. 

"  I  have  been  admiring  it,"  answered  Jane, 
who  could  appreciate  rare  pieces.  "  A  genuine 
Gobelin,  isn't  it?" 

Jim  assented.  "  Looks  like  Tristram  and 
Iseult,  I  always  say,"  he  added.  "  The  hunter 
and  his  hounds  faded  to  those  soft  warm  tones. 
Remember  ? 

196 


THE   SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

"'On  the  arras  wrought  you  see 
A  stately  huntsman  clad  in  green, 
And  round  him  a  fresh  forest-scene. 
On  that  clear  forest-knoll  he  stays, 
With  his  pack  round  him,  and  delays. 

The  wild  boar  rustles  in  his  lair; 

The  fierce  hounds  snuff  the  tainted  air, 

But  lord  and  hounds  keep  rooted  there.' " 

Jane  rose  to  examine  it  more  closely,  think- 
ing to  herself  how  interesting  these  people  were 
in  comparison  to  the  chattering  crowd  at  her 
mother's  receptions.  The  hot  tea  and  the  cakes 
had  put  courage  into  her;  and  the  excitement 
of  the  new  atmosphere  had  added  a  dash  of 
color  to  her  cheeks.  As  she  rose,  she  noted 
a  sudden  small  uproar  in  the  group  around 
the  writing-table.  Mrs.  Beecher,  a  vivid 
little  figure  with  the  enthusiasm  of  everlast- 
ing youth,  in  spite  of  her  white  hair,  was  hold- 
ing forth  vivaciously,  waving  her  arms  at 
Bryce. 

"  Look  at  him !  "  she  cried.  "  The  coming 
playwright,  ladies  and  gentlemen  —  the  new 

197 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

world  of  which  I  am  the  discoverer.  All  hear 
me  and  remember  that  I  placed  his  play. 
Chadwick  is  keen  about  it !  I  'm  so  glad  I  can 
tell  you  the  news !  " 

Bryce  smiled  at  her  in  grateful  deprecation. 
Mrs.  Beecher  was  one  of  his  best  friends.  He 
had  long  ago  got  under  her  superficial  gayety 
and  rapier  keenness  and  found  the  warm 
mother-heart  beneath.  She  answered  the  look, 
covering  it  meanwhile  with  badinage. 

"  When  '  The  Price  of  Power '  is  on  and 
bringing  you  —  oh,  let 's  say  a  thousand  a 
week,  and  ten  per  cent  of  that  for  little  me, 
we  '11  place  '  The  Fire  Opal,'  too." 

"Oh,  chuck  'The  Fire  Opal,'"  proteste'd 
Hartford,  the  dramatic  critic.  "  Gordon  can 
do  better  than  that." 

"  Better !  "  retorted  Mrs.  Beecher.  "  Out 
upon  you  for  a  cynical  old  first-nighter  that 
has  lost  all  taste  for  champagne.  I  Ve  not 
placed  twenty  plays  this  season  for  nothing. 

I  tell  you  '  The  Price  of  Power '  can't  hold  a 

198 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

candle  to  '  The  Fire  Opal.'  It  reads  bigger, 
but  it  is  n't." 

Bryce,  embarrassed,  objected. 

"  '  The  Fire  Opal '  is  rank  melodrama,  and 
Hartford  never  loses  a  chance  to  give  that  a 
good  prod  with  his  toasting-fork." 

"  Oh  —  melodrama !  "  Mrs.  Beecher  turned 
swiftly  to  Jane,  whose  interested  eyes  she  saw 
fixed  upon  the  group. 

"He's  got  it  in  him,  Miss  South.  'The 
Fire  Opal '  is  his  first  play  and  he  's  ashamed 
to  have  me  hawk  it  around.  But  young  people 
write  good  plays  because  the  emotions  are  still 
so  strong  in  them.  '  The  Price  of  Power  '  has 
more  brains,  but  less  blood.  Wait  and  see." 

'  You  talk  like  a  minor  prophet,"  laughed 
Bryce  good-naturedly,  reaching  for  her  cup, 
"  but  even  Elijah  was  n't  averse  to  refreshment. 
I  'm  a  perfectly  good  raven.  Have  some  tea." 
And  Mrs.  Beecher  was  kindly  submerged. 

Jane  turned  back  to  the  tapestry,  her  opinion 
of  Bryce  rising  even  higher  as  she  perceived 

199 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

the  evident  liking  and  respect  the  group  bore 
him,  and  was  suddenly  arrested  by  the  eyes 
of  the  viking,  Oswald.  He  was  looking  at  her 
intently,  with  the  curious  concentration  of  the 
artist.  For  a  moment  Jane  felt  as  if  she  were 
wearing  no  clothes.  But  when  he  saw  her 
regarding  him  he  smiled  like  a  friendly  collie 
and  relaxed  his  gaze,  as  the  librettist  they 
called  "  Joker  "  rose  from  his  chair  and  yawned 
ostentatiously. 

'  There  has  n't  been  a  good  line  sprung  here 
to-night,"  he  lamented,  "  and  I  've  got  to  hand 
in  a  bushel  of  wit  to-morrow.  Every  laugh  's 
a  dollar ;  who  '11  give  to  the  beggar  ?  " 

"  You  need  a  thousand  new  lines  in  that  show 
of  yours,"  remarked  Hartford  bluntly.  "  It 's 
the  worst  bunch  of  rot  that  ever  set  Broadway 
buying  tickets." 

"  Not  necessarily,"  commented  Jim.  "  The 
chorus  have  swell  figures." 

;<  Well,  that 's  better  than  having  a  swelled 
head,"  retorted  the  librettist,  heaving  a  cushion 


200 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

at  his  ironical  defender.  "  Harty  uses  vitriol 
for  ink,  and  has  a  prussic-acid  cocktail  every 
morning  before  breakfast,  and  I  '11  forgive  him ; 
but  it 's  tu  quoque  for  yours.  You  're  tarred 
with  the  same  brush,  and  you  know  it." 

"  I  do  know  it,"  agreed  Jim,  settling  the 
cushion  behind  his  head  comfortably.  "  Only 
wish  I  could  con  'em  into  paying  ten  dollars 
for  a  box  to  my  novels.  The  novel  trade  is 
going  to  the  demnition  bow-wows." 

"  By  the  way,"  put  in  Miss  Dennison, 
"  speaking  of  bow-wows,  what  happened  to 
'em  last  night  ?  I  did  n't  hear  a  yap  out  of 
our  anvil  chorus." 

The  Joker  blushed  unmistakably,  to  the 
frank  delight  of  the  company,  and  his  chum 
Walworth,  an  auburn-bearded  artist  with 
twinkling  blue  eyes,  laughed  aloud.  Miss 
Dennison  flashed  her  quick  black  eyes  from 
one  to  the  other,  and  snapped  out  an  accus- 
ing forefinger. 

"What's  so  funny?"  she  demanded. 
20 1 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

'  Joker,  what  have  you  been  up  to  ?  Come, 
I  see  confession  trembling  on  your  tongue." 

"  No,  you  don't,"  corrected  Walworth ;  "  you 
see  it  trembling  on  mine.  It 's  really  too  good 
to  keep." 

"Out  with  it!" 

Walworth  laughed  again.  "  It  was  this 
way,"  he  complied.  '  Joker,  being  a  sensitive 
plant,  has  been  done  out  of  his  four-o'clock-in- 
the-morning  beauty  sleep  by  the  yow-yowing 
of  Towser  and  Fido  and  Pinky-Panky-Poo 
across  the  way.  Yesterday  morning  they  killed 
a  cat  under  his  window,  and  he  arose  at  the 
unspeakably  early  hour  of  half-past  eleven, 
vowing  vengeance,  and  calling  upon  everybody 
in  the  building  to  help  him.  Getting  no  en- 
thusiastic war-party  to  assist  him  in  going 
forth  and  abolishing  the  dogs  forthwith,  he 
went  out  alone,  purchased  sausages  from  a 
fat  butcher,  achieved  a  stock  of  poison  at  the 
druggist's,  and  returned  to  construct  vindictive 

sandwiches." 

202 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

"  Joker !  "  reproached  Miss  Dennison.    "  You 
didn't!" 

With  a  French  gesture  Walworth  jumped 
to  his  feet,  seized  a  bit  of  charcoal  from  the 
desk,  and  sketched  swiftly  on  Bryce's  wall. 
"  My  children,  behold  him/'  he  continued, 
"  with  his  so-fashionable  coat,  his  fuzzy  fedora, 
his  polished  boots,  wandering  down  the  street; 
a  string  of  dogs  behind  him,  and  giving  each 
one  a  link.  It  was  a  sight  worth  seeing." 
Walworth  roughed  in  the  slender,  dandyish 
figure  of  the  Joker,  followed  by  beseeching 
curs.  '  Thus.  Ah,  it  was  a  great  dog-day. 
He  returned,  lacking  in  virtue,  but  content. 
He  vowed  that  to-night  we  should  all  rest  in 
peace.  He  went  to  bed  early.  Likewise  did 
the  dogs,  full  of  sausage.  To-day  — "  He 
paused  dramatically. 

The  Joker  arose  from  the  divan,  and  waved 
a  sheepish  hand.  "  If  you  're  done,"  he  re- 
marked acidly,  "  I  '11  finish  the  story.  When 

I  went  out  this  morning  the  same  string  of 

203 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

dogs  followed  to  lick  my  hand.  They  had  come 
for  more  sausage." 

The  crowd  laughed  with  mingled  relief  and 
amusement.  Miss  Dennison  wrinkled  her 
brow. 

"  Pull  the  string,  Bunty,"  she  commanded. 
"  What 's  the  answer  ?  You  said  he  bought 
poison." 

"  Or  what  he  thought  was  such,"  returned 
Walworth.  "  The  trouble  was  that  he  asked 
Bryce  Gordon  what  was  a  good  poison  to  buy, 
and  Bryce,  having  humanitarian  ideas,  ad- 
vised him  to  load  up  with  harmless  bicarbon- 
ate of  soda.  It  agreed  with  the  dogs  like  a 
tonic." 

The  crowd  laughed  again  uproariously,  ap- 
plauding Bryce,  and  the  Joker  blushed  again. 
The  laughter  was  interrupted  by  a  shout  from 
the  door,  where  a  deep-chested,  broad-shoul- 
dered man  in  evening  clothes  and  silk  hat 
stood  looking  in  on  them. 

"  Bedlam !  "  he  declared,  marching,  big  and 
204 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

handsome,  into  the  middle  of  the  room.    They 
greeted  him  with  raillery. 
"Oh,  seethe  dude!" 

"  No  place  for  him  here.     Put  him  out ! " 
"  Beat  it  back  to  Fifth  Avenoo !  " 
"He's  full  of  the  Four  Hundred's  baked 
meats.     Put  him  out !  " 

Instead  they  kept  him  very  much  in.  They 
took  off  his  collar  and  white  dress-tie.  They 
draped  a  piece  of  oriental  embroidery  about 
him  so  that  it  trailed  behind,  and  in  bib  effect 
covered  his  expanse  of  dress-shirt  front;  they 
crowned  him  with  an  impromptu  turban 
achieved  from  a  towel  and  a  whisk-broom; 
and  they  assailed  him  meanwhile  with  gibes. 
"Did  they  give  you  enough  to  eat?" 
"  Whom  did  you  take  in  ?  And  did  she  talk 
in  five  flats,  and  ask  you  if  you  did  n't  think 
Schumann  had  so  much  soul  ?  " 

"  And  after  they  had  fed  you  did  they  wait 
a  decent  time  before  they  asked  you  to  sing, 

or  was  it  very  banal?  " 

205 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Jane's  wondering  eyes  caught  Gordon's,  for 
the  first  time  in  half  an  hour.  At  first  he  had 
kept  a  careful  eye  on  her  to  see  that  she  was 
comfortable  and  not  bored,  and  then  had  left 
her  to  get  acquainted  with  the  rest  of  "  the 
ruffians."  Now  he  had  found  his  way  to  her 
side.  He  explained,  laughingly: 

"  He 's  just  come  from  the  Cashmeres' 
musicale." 

"  Oh,  I  know  them,"  said  Jane  quickly. 
"  Elizabeth  Cashmere  was  once  my  roommate." 
And  then  she  was  sorry  she  had  spoken,  for 
Bryce's  laughter  died. 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  he  said  gravely.  "  It 's  too 
bad  you  Ve  heard  all  this.  Of  course  it 's  just 
good-natured  chafiF,  but  one  hates  to  have  one's 
friends  discussed." 

"  It  does  n't  matter,"  she  answered.  ;f  I 
won't  be  seeing  them  any  more.  Who  is 
he?" 

"  Henry  Law." 

"  Not  the  concert  singer  ?  " 
206 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

'  The  same,"  smiled  Bryce.  "  And  a  mighty 
good  fellow." 

"  Oh ! "  breathed  Jane  enthusiastically. 
"  Not  really !  You  are  giving  me  a  treat." 

"  Do  you  like  them  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  of  them.  They  know  so  much ; 
they  all  do  so  much.  And,  after  all,  I  'm  only 
an  actress  out  of  a  job.  I  feel  lost  among 
them." 

"  Oswald  likes  you.  He  says  you  have  a 
very  interesting  face." 

Now  this  was  the  truth  so  far  as  it  went, 
but  it  was  not  the  whole  truth.  What  Oswald 
really  had  said  was  that  Jane  was  an  inter- 
esting type,  —  "  an  epicurean  turned  stoic,  a 
sybarite  among  the  husks,"  —  and  had  com- 
mented on  the  way  the  bones  of  her  skull  were 
beginning  to  show  through  the  flesh-padding 
about  the  temples  and  cheeks.  Bryce  had  im- 
mediately commandeered  an  olive  sandwich 
from  Jim  and  brought  it  to  Jane.  Now  he 
stood  watching  her  eat  it  with  an  anxious  look 

207 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

in  his  eyes.  It  was  quite  true  that  she  was 
thinner  than  when  he  had  seen  her  at  the 
Van  Muellers'  reception  and  charity  play.  But 
he  had  no  more  time  to  talk  to  her,  for  the 
others  had  swept  Henry  Law  over  to  the  piano, 
and  were  calling  upon  Bryce  to  accompany 
him. 


208 


CHAPTER   VIII 

"  Come  over  here,  Gordon,  and  play  the 
hand-organ  for  the  monkey,"  Law  commanded. 
"  Now  that  we  've  sung  for  Mammon,  we  '11 
sing  for  love.  Let 's  give  'em  the  *  Hunting 
Song.' " 

With  a  crash  Gordon  brought  his  sensitive 
hands  down  on  the  keys  in  a  full  chord  like 
a  trumpet-call,  and  the  big  baritone  rang  out 
in  the  gallant  words  of  the  song: 

"Oh,  who  would  stayTindoor,  indoor, 
When  the  hunt  is  on  the  hill  ?     (Tarantara!) 
With  the  crisp  air  stinging  and  the  huntsmen  singing, 
And  a  ten-tined  buck  to  kill! " 

Again  the  splendid  stormy  chords  of  the  piano. 
Bryce  had  no  notes  —  needed  none.  He  was 
a  strong,  intelligent  accompanist,  and  Law 
sang  his  best  when  Bryce  was  at  the  keys. 

209 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

A  veritable  caricature  the  great  singer  looked 
in  his  absurd  apron  and  turban,  but  no  one 
thought  of  that.  The  marvelous  voice  carried 
them  away  from  the  shaded  and  fire-lit  study; 
and  every  man  of  them  was  on  the  heather- 
tufted  hills  with  a  good  horse's  heart  pound- 
ing against  his  leg  and  the  rush  of  the  wind 
in  his  ears. 

"Before  the  sun  goes  down,  goes  down, 
We  shall  slay  the  buck  of  ten.     (Tarantara!) 
And  the  priest  shall  say  benison  and  we  shall  ha'e  venison 
When  we  come  home  again. 

"Let  him  that  loves  his  ease,  his  ease, 
Keep  close  and  house  him  fair.     (Tarantara!) 
He  '11  still  be  a  stranger  to  the  merry  thrill  of  danger, 
And  the  joy  of  the  open  air." 

The  Joker  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat.  Miss 
Dennison,  little  pinch  of  fire  and  steel  that  she 
was,  sat  bolt  upright,  her  black  eyes  alight, 
her  hands  gripped  on  the  arm  of  her  chair, 
remembering  the  unfenced  prairies  whence  she 
came,  and  the  trail  where  one  rode  by  a  scar 
on  the  mountain-side  thirty  miles  away.  The 

210 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

Joker  had  always  been  too  indolent  to  ride  a 
horse. 

"But  he  that  loves  the  hills,  the  hills, 
Let  him  come  out  to-day.     (Tarantara!) 
For  the  horses  are  neighing  and  the  hounds  are  baying 
And  the  hunt 's  up  and  away! " 

It  ended  on  a  splendid  note  that  swept  one 
irresistibly  on.  For  two  minutes  there  was 
dead  silence,  and  then  a  storm  of  applause. 

"  That 's  great !  "  said  Oswald.  "  Don't  try 
to  cap  that  —  you  can't  do  it,  Harry.  Give 
us  something  in  another  vein." 

"  Sing  that  recitative  thing  you  sang  over 
at  Frithiof's  the  other  night,"  suggested  Hart- 
ford dryly.  "  That 's  worth  any  amount  of 
huntsmen." 

"  That 's  queer,"  said  Law,  glancing  at  the 
critic.  "  I  did  n't  see  you  there." 

"  I  did  n't  intend  you  should,"  returned 
Hartford.  "  I  merely  looked  in  for  a  minute, 
and  the  minute  was  a  fortunate  one,  when  you 
were  singing.  I  never  heard  you  in  better 

voice.     Let 's  have  it  again." 

211 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Law  turned  to  Gordon.  "  It 's  '  Never  Give 
All  the  Heart '  he  wants.  Just  play  me  those 
same  bass  chords  you  did  at  Frithiof's." 

"  That 's  a  depressing  thing,"  said  Bryce, 
turning  to  the  keyboard  with  a  shade  of  re- 
luctance. "  Sounds  like  the  end  of  the  world." 

But  Law  was  singing.  It  hardly  sounded 
like  a  song  at  all,  and  the  little  audience  lis- 
tened doubtfully. 

"Never  give  all  the  heart,  for  love 
Will  hardly  seem- worth  thinking  of 
To  passionate  women,  if  it  seem 
Certain,  and  they  never  dream 
That  it  fades  out  from  kiss  to  kiss  —  " 

Miss  Dennison  moved  impatiently,  and 
glanced  over  at  Hartford,  who  sat  wrinkled 
and  impassive  as  a  Chinese  joss,  his  eyes  low- 
ered absently,  yet  with  a  look  of  listening 
about  him  that  one  could  almost  feel.  The 
wonderful  voice  of  the  singer  gathered  in- 
tensity. 

"For  everything  that 's  lovely  is 
But  a  brief,  dreamy,  kind  delight. 
O,  never  give  the  heart  outright!" 
212 


THE   SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

That  was  a  cry  of  bitterness  and  "disillusion. 
Jane  caught  her  breath  with  the  pain  of  it. 

"For  they,  for  all  smooth  lips  can  say, 
Have  given  their  hearts  up  to  the  play, 
And  who  could  play  it  well  enough 
If  deaf  .  .  .  and  dumb  .  .  .  and  blind  with  love  ? 

He  that  made  this  knows  all  the  cost, 
For  he  gave  all  his  heart  —  and  lost!" 

"  What  the  dickens  is  that?  "  demanded  Jim 
uncertainly  of  the  Joker. 

"'Never  Give  All  the  Heart/"  explained 
the  Joker  cheerfully.  "  It 's  dramatic  as 
hell,  is  n't  it,  —  though  it  is  n't  much  of  a 
lyric." 

'  There  are  more  things  than  its  dramatic 
quality  that  are  like  hell,"  observed  the  old 
critic  briefly.  "  Thank  you,  Law." 

Gordon  rose  from  the  piano  and  returned 
to  where  Jane  and  Mrs.  Beecher  were  sitting 
by  the  fire. 

"  You  did  n't  play  that  so  well,  Bryce,"  said 
the  older  woman,  making  room  for  him  on 

the  settle. 

213 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  No."  Bryce  looked  annoyed.  "  I  don't 
like  the  thing.  More  than  that,  I  don't  believe 
it.  Do  you?" 

"  No.  ...  I  did  once." 

'  You ! "  Bryce's  tone  was  incredulous. 
The  little  woman  smiled. 

"  You  '11  go  through  it  too,  some  day." 

"  Never !  "  Bryce  was  emphatic.  "  The 
world  is  a  lot  better  than  that,  and  I  know  it. 
You  don't  want  me  to  be  a  cynic  with  a  liver, 
do  you?  That's  what  cynicism  is  mostly,  I 
think  —  pure  indigestion.  As  long  as  a  man 
keeps  himself  in  condition  he  thinks  the  world 
is  a  pretty  good  place." 

Mrs.  Beecher  smiled  wisely  again,  and  old 
Hartford,  leaning  forward  in  his  chair, 
reached  out  to  tap  Bryce  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Keep  up  your  athletics,  Gordon,  and  hang 
on  to  your  illusions  as  long  as  you  can.  But 
let  me  tell  you  this :  You  '11  never  write  a  great 
play  until  you  learn  what  that  song  tells  you 

—  and  learn  it  for  yourself.     Then  you  may 

214 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

write  a  play  which  will  live,  though  it  may 
not  make  you  happy.  Your  disease  is  youth." 

"  May  I  never  be  cured,"  said  Gordon  cheer- 
fully. "  I  'd  rather  be  happy  than  own  the 
greatest  bunch  of  manuscript  misery  ever 
penned.  In  fact,  as  for  your  drama,  —  pshaw, 
Bernard,"  he  added.  "  I  'm  never  going  to 
break  my  heart  for  art's  sake.  I  'm  going 
to  eat  three  meals  a  day  when  I  can  get  'em, 
and  believe  in  a  God  and  a  good  world.  Let 's 
have  an  antidote,"  and,  jumping  up,  he  swung 
again  into  "  Funiculi  Funicula's  "  irresistible 
gayety  of  rhythm. 

Jane,  regarding  his  interesting  features  as 
shown  up  by  the  piano  light,  studied  him 
shrewdly  for  a  moment,  and  wondered  what 
she  could  do  with  him  if  she  should  try.  She 
did  n't  want  to  break  his  heart,  of  course  — 
not  exactly  —  but  she  measured  the  chances  of 
battle  instinctively  and  smiled  just  a  little  to 
herself.  She  thought  she  could  make  Bryce 
have  some  new  emotions,  if  she  chose;  and 

215 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

she  ended  by  pluming  herself  on  her  kind  for- 
bearance and  her  superior  wisdom. 

With  "  Funiculi "  the  other  song's  spell  was 
broken,  and  the  evening  ended  merrily,  with 
the  Joker  cordially  inviting  everybody  to  a 
sausage  supper  at  his  next  "  at  home." 
Laughing  sincere  regrets,  the  guests  went  for 
their  wraps,  and  Jane  found  hers  with  those 
of  the  other  women  in  Gordon's  bedroom  —  a 
severe  room,  spotlessly  clean  and  orderly  and 
bare.  Only  above  the  bed  there  was  a  tiny 
quilt,  embroidered  in  pink  and  blue  flowers 
and  framed  like  a  picture. 

'''  What  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  piece,"  re- 
marked Jane  to  Miss  Dennison.  "  What  is 
it  ? "  But  that  observing  young  woman  had 
neglected  to  note  it,  and  none  of  the  other 
women  knew.  On  the  way  home  she  asked 
Bryce  about  it.  He  looked  at  her  very  quietly 
for  a  moment,  and  she  was  afraid  she  should 
not  have  asked.  Then  he  looked  away  and 
said  gently: 

216 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

"  My  mother  made  it.     She  died  when  I 

was  born." 

•          •••••• 

"  Now/'  said  Gordon  to  Chadwick,  two  days 
later,  "  you  have  seen  Miss  South  and  heard 
her  voice.  What's  your  answer?" 

The  manager  stuck  his  fat  hands  in  his 
pockets  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  ill  at 
ease. 

"  I  tell  you,  Gordon,  it 's  a  big  risk,"  he 
growled.  "  I  can't  afford  to  be  taking  chances 
with  a  first  play.  She  ain't  known.  Her  name 
ain't  worth  shucks.  I  say  take  Seline." 

"  Give  Miss  South  a  chance  and  she  '11  get 
all  the  following  Seline  has,  and  more.  She 
has  brains,  and  Seline  uses  her  head  only  as 
an  ornament." 

Chadwick  shook  his  head  irritably. 

"  No,  no !  Forget  it !  I  'd  rather  spend  a 
few  more  dollars  and  get  an  experienced  in- 
genue. Take  your  girl  over  to  Moughton's 

and  let  'em  give  her  a  part." 

217 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  You  know  what  Brothers  &  Lang  did.  I  'm 
cutting  the  agencies  out  these  days.  You  must 
cast  her  here." 

Chadwick's  temper  rose.  After  all,  Gordon 
was  only  the  author. 

"  Must,  huh?  "  he  demanded.  "  Must  noth- 
ing !  Who  's  putting  up  the  money  for  your 
old  play  ?  Who  's  payin'  the  bills  here,  huh  ? 
Must !  I  tell  you  she 's  not  the  type  and  I 
don't  want  her." 

Gordon's  eyes  grew  suddenly  sharp  as  steel. 

"  I  see  no  objection  to  a  brunette  ingenue." 

"It's  not  that  —  not  that,"  argued  Chad- 
wick.  "  She  is  n't  it,  that 's  all.  We  want 
Seline." 

"  Seline !  Hang  Seline !  "  thundered  Bryce. 
"  What  I  said,  goes." 

"  Who 's  the  manager  of  this  theater  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  about  the  manager.  Miss 
South  is  going  on  in  this,  or  you  '11  never  get 
a  chance  at  another  play  of  mine." 

Chadwick's  secret  faith  in  "  The  Price  of 
218 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

Power  "  was  very  great,  which  fact  Gordon 
knew.  The  manager  hedged. 

"  Don't  try  to  bluff  me,  Gordon." 

But  the  steady  eyes  that  met  Chadwick's 
held  no  hint  of  yielding,  and  uneasily  Chad- 
wick  shifted  his  own  glance. 

"  Does  she  get  the  part  ? "  Gordon  said 
quietly. 

Chadwick  hung  off  as  long  as  he  dared.  But 
he  succumbed  in  the  end  and  gravely  engaged 
Jane.  Bryce  Gordon  had  succeeded  in  being 
her  god  from  the  machine,  and  she  was  grate- 
ful as  only  those  who  have  looked  hunger  in 
the  face  know  how  to  be.  Indeed  she  shrewdly 
suspected  him  of  being  behind  Mrs.  Beecher's 
motherly  friendship  and  the  loan  of  ten  dol- 
lars which  she  had  tucked  into  Jane's  hand  the 
day  after  Bryce's  party.  But  she  had  accepted 
both  humbly,  along  with  the  opportunity  to 
lay  her  head  on  Mrs.  Beecher's  shoulder  for 
a  comfortable  cry,  in  which  the  bitterness  of 

the  last  weeks  was  washed  away;   and  turn- 

219 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

ing    over    a    new    leaf,    began    a    pleasanter 
chapter. 

Scribner  heard  of  the  turn  in  Jane's  for- 
tunes through  Brothers  &  Lang,  and,  furious 
at  her  good  luck  and  her  refusals  to  see  him, 
planned  a  characteristic  bit  of  revenge.  On 
his  return  to  Chicago  he  managed  that  the 
newspapers  should  learn  that  Jane  was  not  in 
Europe  with  Mrs.  Van  Mueller,  but  in  New 
York,  an  actress,  and  a  protegee  of  Bryce  Gor- 
don, an  untried  playwright.  Jane's  name  was 
worth  a  column  on  the  front  page  any  day, 
and  instantly  the  story  of  her  disappearance 
and  adventures  was  blazoned  forth.  Pictures 
and  articles  that  had  been  run  during  her 
social  career  again  adorned  the  front  pages 
of  all  the  dailies,  and  the  Carringtons,  used 
to  having  a  comfortable  appreciation  of  pub- 
licity, now  shrank  from  the  sight  of  a  reporter 
or  a  printed  page.  It  is  one  thing  to  enjoy 
somebody  else's  scandal  over  one's  breakfast 

coffee,  and  quite  another  to  behold  one's  own 

220 


THE   SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

name  in  that  deadly  block  type.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Carrington  grew  harder  than  ever  towards 
Jane. 

But  it  was  good  news  to  Chadwick,  and, 
seeing  the  advertising  value  her  name  would 
lend  to  his  show,  he  hastened  to  court  her. 

"  It 's  the  best  thing  that  could  have  hap- 
pened," he  chuckled  gleefully,  rubbing  his  fat 
hands.  "  The  show  will  be  a  hit  now,  sure. 
With  Jane  Carrington  on  the  program,  the 
house  will  be  packed.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  before  ?  " 

He  took  occasion  to  say  this  when  Beatrice 
Drake,  the  star,  was  not  listening.  Jane  did 
not  flinch  outwardly.  She  had  learned  to  ac- 
cept Chadwick  and  his  type  for  what  they 
were.  She  merely  said  quietly: 

"  I  prefer  not  to  use  that  name." 

"  Not  ?  Well,  what  do  you  know  about 
that?" 

She  interrupted  him.  "  Mr.  Gordon  will 
speak  to  you  about  it." 

221 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Bryce  spoke  in  favor  of  her  using  her  true 
name. 

"  Everybody  knows  who  '  Cecelia  South  '  is 
now.  You  can  do  no  good  by  hiding  your 
real  name.  Some  day  you  will  be  great,  and 
by  your  fame  you  can  redeem  this  present 
notoriety." 

Jane  acquiesced  without  further  discussion. 
Chadwick  instantly  advertised  her  in  letters 
almost  as  big  as  those  devoted  to  the  star, 
and  the  ticket  man  at  the  box-office  did  a  rush- 
ing business.  Rehearsals  were  pushed  to  the 
limit,  lest  the  opening  come  too  late  to  take 
advantage  of  the  free  advertising  they  were 
getting,  and  Jane  found  life  hard.  Chadwick 
was  noted  for  his  sarcastic  tongue,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  never  could  get  any- 
thing to  please  him.  The  hours  of  rehearsal, 
from  nine  o'clock  until  six,  with  a  few  minutes 
off  at  noon  for  a  sandwich,  tried  her,  unused 
to  confinement  or  monotony,  and  the  loneliness 
preyed  upon  her,  accustomed  to  many  friends. 

222 


THE   SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

Mrs.  Beecher  she  saw  only  occasionally,  for 
they  were  both  busy;  Bryce  Gordon  often, 
for  naturally  they  were  thrown  together  at 
the  theater  and  had  many  things  to  discuss 
with  each  other  about  the  play.  Gradually  she 
came  to  depend  more  and  more  on  Bryce  for 
companionship,  and  on  the  Thursday  evening 
conclaves  in  his  rooms  for  relaxation.  Some- 
times in  the  course  of  the  evening  fifteen  or 
twenty  people  would  drop  in ;  sometimes  there 
would  be  only  herself  and  Mrs.  Beecher,  with 
Oswald  lounging  in  the  Morris  chair,  silent, 
as  usual,  and  smoking  his  briar.  But  always 
it  was  interesting,  and  Jane  grew  to  feel  her- 
self one  of  them,  free  to  come  and  go  too, 
and  like  them,  strive  to  justify  her  existence 
and  earn  her  daily  bread.  Bryce's  mere  pres- 
ence, too,  came  to  be  comforting.  Once  she 
said  as  much  to  him. 

"  You  shoulder  all  my  troubles,"  she  had 
remarked,  half -laughingly.     "  I  can  feel  them 

sliding  off  me  the  minute  you  come  in." 

223 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

He  had  looked  at  her  rather  queerly,  and 
made  some  careless  reply.  Afterwards  she  had 
remembered  the  look  and  wondered  if  he  had 
thought  her  bold.  But  he  was  just  the  same 
as  usual  the  next  time  she  saw  him,  and  she 
decided  his  expression  had  been  merely  her 
own  fancy.  Bryce  was  a  good  chum. 

As  for  Gordon,  he  found  Jane  more  inter- 
esting than  any  woman  he  had  ever  known. 
Neither  making  eyes  nor  acting  motherly,  she 
impressed  him  as  unusual.  Moreover,  she 
could  think.  They  had  glorious  discussions 
about  the  play.  Sometimes  they  made  holiday 
and  went  into  the  country  together,  where 
confidences  come  easily.  Gordon  had  told  her 
about  his  college  days,  his  southern  home ;  and, 
lured  on  by  her  mobile  face,  had  given  her 
a  glimpse  of  his  ambitions  and  dreams.  He 
had  understood  women  easily  enough,  he 
thought,  but  it  was  seldom  that  a  woman  had 
understood  him.  Did  Jane  understand?  At 

least,  she  was  enticingly  interested,  and  Bryce, 

224 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

after  he  had  left  her,  usually  wondered  at  his 
own  unreserve.  With  the  curious  self-exami- 
nation of  the  writer,  to  whom  his  own  soul 
is  always  possible  copy,  he  investigated  his 
feelings  towards  her,  but  without  coming  to 
any  very  definite  conclusion. 

"  You  're  tired,"  he  greeted  her  one  Sun- 
day morning.  "  Let 's  get  out  of  this." 

"  Where  to  ?  "  Jane's  eyes  were  undeniably 
dark-ringed  above  her  gay  morning  gown. 

"  Oh,  into  the  wilds  of  the  Bronx.  We  may 
find  —  " 

"What?" 

"  Perhaps  St.  George  and  his  dragon  —  or 
maybe  a  piece  of  the  country  east  of  the  sun 
and  west  of  the  moon  —  or  say  some  May- 
flowers. Come  along,  anyway.  A  walk  will 
do  you  good." 

"  I  '11  be  ready  in  ten  minutes.  But  I  warn 
you  now  I  won't  be  polite  to  the  dragon." 

;<  We  '11  abolish  the  dragon,  then.     Put  on 

your  rubbers  —  it 's  wet  outside." 

225 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

It  was  the  very  earliest  of  early  April 
out-of-doors.  Timidly  the  pussy-willows  were 
putting  out  gray  noses,  and  here  and  there  a 
poplar  catkin  hung.  The  sun  shone  on  the 
wet  road,  and  the  pools  along  the  wayside 
reflected  blue  sky  and  a  dark  fretwork  of 
branches.  Jane  and  Bryce  splashed  along 
gayly,  talking  of  many  things,  and  with  satis- 
faction he  noticed  the  clear  color  creeping 
up  under  her  pale  cheeks.  At  last  he  found  a 
sheltered  spot  on  a  south  hillside,  under  the 
lee  of  some  firs.  Spreading  his  overcoat  for 
Jane,  he  lighted  an  aromatic  little  fire  of 
birch  and  pine  and  produced  two  big  red 
apples. 

"  It  looks  like  the  first  house  here,"  he  said 
contentedly,  as  Jane  sank  her  teeth  gratefully 
into  the  Baldwin.  "  The  first  fire  and  the  first 
lunch  —  and  the  first  woman." 

Jane  laughed.  "  The  first  woman  did  n't 
have  any  problems.  Life  is  getting  too  com- 
plex for  me  —  yesterday  was  the  rainiest 

226 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

April  second  for  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
three  years.  Besides,  people  were  —  horrid." 
Her  face  suddenly  clouded  and  she  made  a 
disgusted  little  pout  at  the  recollection. 

"  Some  brute  again?  " 

"  Ugh !  yes.  He  took  my  arm  on  the  street 
and  told  me  he  admired  my  nerve.  I  wish 
Chadwick  could  be  induced  to  withdraw  the 
statement  that  I  'm  going  to  play." 

Bryce  doubled  up  his  fist  and  looked  at  it 
absently. 

"  I  had  no  idea  it  would  cause  so  much 
comment  when  I  insisted  on  your  playing  in 
*  The  Price  of  Power.'  It 's  been  beastly, 
hasn't  it?" 

"  Between  well-meaning  friends  and  curious 
reporters  I  have  n't  had  much  peace.  Some- 
body was  around  with  a  kodak  last  night  when 
I  went  home,  but  I  pulled  down  my  veil  and 
scuttled  up  the  front  steps  like  a  scared  rabbit. 
I  hope  their  plate  's  spoiled." 

Bryce    said    something   savagely.      "  I   beg 
227 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

your  pardon.  It  makes  me  furious  to  see  you 
enduring  all  this  alone.  I  must  never  miss 
taking  you  home  after  rehearsal  again.  Then 
I  can  have  the  satisfaction  of  knocking  their 
heads  off,  anyhow." 

"  No,  I  won't  allow  it.  You  Ve  your  own 
work,  and  I  can't  take  you  off  it  just  to  squire 
me  around.  Remember,  Cecelia  South  has 
learned  a  lot  of  things  that  Jane  Carrington 
did  n't  know,  among  them  how  to  wear  duck- 
feathers  that  shed  talk  like  raindrops.  But 
I  wish  Chadwick  would  let  me  change  my 
name." 

"  Take  mine." 

It  was  suddenly  a  voice  that  Jane  Carring- 
ton did  not  know,  and  surprised,  she  turned 
to  look  at  him.  But  he  lay  quietly  on  the  pine- 
needles,  elaborately  engaged  in  rooting  up  a 
partridge-berry  vine,  and  she  decided  it  was 
only  a  joke. 

"  Look  out!    What  if  I  should  accept?  " 

"Jane!" 

228 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

It  was  plainly  earnest  now,  and  instantly 
Jane  became  grave. 

"Don't,  Bryce!    You  mustn't." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  'm  not  a  '  marriage-girl '  any 
more.  I  'm  a  working  woman,  anxious  to  suc- 
ceed in  my  career.  I  never  thought  of  you 
that  way,  —  you  and  I  are  too  good  friends, 
—  don't  spoil  everything." 

He  controlled  himself  with  an  effort  and 
turned  on  her  a  quiet  face  of  reassurance. 

"  I  'm  not  spoiling  anything,  or  asking  you 
to  do  anything  you  can't  do  freely.  If  you 
were  a  man,  I  'd  say,  '  Come  along  and  keep 
bachelor  hall  with  me.'  Because  you  wear 
petticoats  I  can't  do  that,  but  I  can  give 
you  the  protection  of  my  name,  and  shield 
you  from  all  this  talk  that 's  abroad,  and 
see  that  you  're  fed  and  warm  at  least ; 
and  incidentally,  have  a  comrade  in  the 
house." 

"  You  mean  we  should  go  through  a  form 
229 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

of  marriage  and  remain  friends  —  just  as  we 
are?" 

"  Exactly."  Bryce's  tone  was  excellently 
matter-of-fact. 

"  But,  Bryce,  think  what  a  short  time  we  've 
known  each  other !  " 

"  Friendship  is  n't  a  matter  of  time.  You 
and  I  know  each  other  as  well  as  if  we  'd 
played  marbles  together.  Don't  we,  Jane?" 

"  Ye-es.  I  Ve  never  been  so  friendly  with 
any  man  before  as  I  've  been  with  you." 

"  Well,"  he  smiled  at  her  joyfully,  "  there  's 
nothing  to  be  afraid  of." 

"  Suppose  I  met  some  one  else  —  or  you 
did?" 

"  Do  you  think  you  will  ?  " 

"Who  can  tell?  We  can't  blink  the  pos- 
sibility." 

"  Well,  if  such  a  thing  should  happen,  you 
will  tell  me  and  then  you  shall  have  your  free- 
dom at  once.  We  '11  make  that  a  part  of  the 

bargain." 

230 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

"  And  you?     Suppose  you  meet  —  " 

He  interrupted.     "  I  '11  risk  that,"  he  said. 

Jane  flickered  a  look  up  at  him  from  under 
her  eyelids  —  the  woman-look  at  the  man. 
Their  friendship  had  come  to  be  very  sweet. 
Perhaps  —  she  wondered  how  it  would  seem 
to  be  married  to  Bryce  —  and  remain  friends. 
Then  the  feminine  instinct  shrank. 

"  Oh,  I  can't.    It  is  n't  fair  to  you/' 

"  I  'm  the  judge  of  that.  If  the  pleasure  of 
having  you  opposite  me  at  breakfast  and  on 
the  other  side  of  the  fireplace  in  the  even- 
ing seems  to  me  an  even  exchange  for  that, 
you  don't  need  to  worry.  You  can't  lose  any- 
thing, and  I  'm  going  into  this  with  my  eyes 
open." 

"  That  Js  the  trouble.  I  can't  lose.  Are  you 
sure  that  you  are  n't  deceiving  yourself  in 
this?" 

"  Not  a  bit.  We  're  both  lonely  and  need 
companionship.  I  'm  simply  fixing  it  so  we 
can  work  together  without  Mrs.  Grundy's 

231 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

holding  up  her  black  lace  mits  in  horror  at 
us.  Can't  you  trust  me?  " 

"I  do  —  oh,  I  'm  not  afraid  of  that  with 
you.  But  if  I  should  take  up  with  this  bar- 
gain of  yours,  there  can't  be  any  —  love  — 
allowed." 

'  That 's  all  right.  Nobody  said  anything 
about  love.  It 's  a  business  and  friendly  ar- 
rangement. Remember,  too,  if  you  're  mar- 
ried to  me,  nobody  can  object  to  your  play- 
ing, or  try  to  take  steps  to  prevent  it.  Is  it 
a  go  —  comrade  ?  " 

"  Wait ! "  Jane  put  her  hands  to  her 
temples.  "  Wait  —  let  me  think!  " 

But  in  the  end  she  yielded,  and  married 
Bryce  Gordon,  to  the  delight  of  the  reporters, 
who  had  another  chance  to  write  up  the  bril- 
liant and  erratic  Jane  Carrington. 


232 


CHAPTER   IX 

Outside  the  Carrington  mansion  it  was  a 
dreary,  cold,  wet  day.  The  sky  was  dull,  the 
lake  a  sullen  gray;  and  the  waves  heaved 
ceaselessly  up  and  down  without  breaking. 
The  Drive  was  deserted  except  for  a  dis- 
gusted tomcat  picking  his  way  among  the 
puddles  and  a  white  gull  that  breasted  up 
against  the  fitful  wind,  crying  dismally  into 
the  emptiness  of  the  gathering  dusk. 

In  the  somber  library  Leslie  and  Scribner 
had  quarreled  for  an  hour,  and  the  temper  of 
neither  was  improved.  Leslie  huddled  herself 
into  one  corner  of  the  massive  davenport,  hug- 
ging one  arm  as  if  she  felt  she  needed  support. 
Scribner  walked  sulkily  up  and  down  the  room 
with  his  shoulders  hunched  forward  and  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  Presently  Leslie  re- 
turned to  the  attack. 

233 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  I  think  it 's  perfectly  mean  of  you  to  talk 
about  Jane  like  that." 

"  I  'm  not  saying  anything  that  is  n't  true," 
he  replied,  pausing  at  one  end  of  his  march. 
"  Can  you  deny  it?  " 

"  Well,  that 's  no  reason  why  you  need  tor- 
ment me  with  it,  is  it?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  'm  not  tormented,  too?  Did 
you  see  that  column  in  Town  Chat  about  our 
broken  engagement  ?  " 

"  The  one  that  said  '  Serves  you  right '  ? 
Yes,  I  did." 

Walter  winced.  When  he  planned  his  little 
revenge  on  Jane  he  had  not  counted  on  the 
latest  turn  of  events.  Leslie,  although  she 
knew  nothing  of  Walter's  hand  in  the  recent 
publicity,  saw  with  satisfaction  that  she  had 
struck  home.  She  had  been  getting  more  and 
more  wretched  all  the  long,  gloomy  day,  and 
for  the  last  half  hour  had  been  choking  back 
a  lump  in  her  throat.  Now  he  looked  down 
at  her  unpleasantly. 

234 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

"  I  have  had  to  endure  a  good  many  things 
lately." 

"  Oh,  you  're  always  talking  about  yourself," 
she  answered.  "  Don't  you  ever  stop  to  think 
of  me ;  that  —  that  I  —  I  'm  lonesome?  " 

The  last  word  sounded  so  dismal  in  her  own 
ears  that  she  began  to  cry  now  in  good  earnest, 
and  Walter,  who  disliked  tears,  came  over  to 
stop  the  flood. 

"  There,  Leslie,  don't  cry,"  he  said,  sitting 
down  beside  her  and  patting  her  hand.  He 
meant  to  solace  her  and  was  somewhat  taken 
aback  when  his  sympathy,  instead,  encouraged 
her  to  more  tears  and  an  abandonment  of 
conventionality.  Down  went  her  head  on  his 
shoulder  and  she  buried  her  nose  in  his  coat 
with  a  muffled  wail.  Her  hair  was  the  shade 
of  Jane's  ancl  her  voice,  although  half  stifled  in 
clothfc  had  the  same  quality.  Walter  hesitated 
a  second  and  then,  retaining  possession  of  her 
fingers,  put  his  other  hand  rather  heavily  on 
her  shoulder  and  let  her  weep. 

235 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Scribie,"  mourned  Leslie, 
letting  a  series  of  drops  dampen  his  fashion- 
able tie.  "  Jane's  left  us  and  gone  on  the  stage, 
and  mother  is  cross,  and  father  never  speaks 
at  all  and  is  n't  a  bit  like  himself.  This  house 
is  just  exactly  like  a  tomb.  And  then  you  come 
and  say  horrid  things,  and  I  just  positively 
hate  you,  I  do !  Oh,  dear !  I  wish  I  'd  never 
been  born." 

To  this  Scribner  said  nothing.  He  was 
thinking  of  a  dark-eyed  girl  dining  with  him 
at  the  Waldorf.  If  he  had  been  a  little  less 
direct  —  if  he  had  let  her  get  a  little  hungrier  — 

"  Jane  did  n't  have  to  marry  you,"  went  on 
Leslie,  hunting  for  her  handkerchief.  "  She 
had  as  much  right  as  anybody  to  change  her 
mind." 

"Indeed!" 

"She  did!  She  did!  And  I'm  glad  she 
married  Bryce  Gordon  and  is  happy,  and  I  '11 
never  be  angry  with  her,  no  matter  what  father 
says." 

236 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

"  You  think  she  did  right  in  deceiving 
everybody?  " 

"  I  don't  care !  Wrong  things  always  seemed 
right  when  Jane  did  them.  And  anyway,  I 
think  father  ought  to  forgive  her." 

'''  If  your  father  had  not  seen  fit  to  disown 
her  I  could  scarcely  feel  that  I  could  come  into 
this  house  with  any  measure  of  self-respect," 
said  Walter  acidly. 

"  Oh !  "  gasped  Leslie,  raising  her  head  as 
the  significance  of  this  dawned  upon  her. 
"Oh,  you  are  hateful!  Let  me  go!  Take 
your  hand  off  my  shoulder!  I  hate  you!  I 
love  Jane  and  I  hate  anybody  that  does  n't, 
and  I  'd  go  to  her  in  a  minute  if  I  could. 
When  I  can  go  to  New  York  nobody  shall  stop 
me  —  not  even  you." 

Anger  brought  fire  to  her  eyes  and  strength 
to  her  delicate  features.  Her  increased  resem- 
blance to  Jane  gave  Walter  an  unexpected  emo- 
tion and  he  was  angry  when  she  ran  from  the 
room.  He  had  really  tried  to  forget  Jane,  and 

237 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

now  Leslie,  whom  he  had  always  regarded  as 
a  little  tractable  kitten,  had  suddenly  defied 
him  —  and  interested  him.  Instead  of  accept- 
ing her  peremptory  dismissal  he  would  remain 
for  dinner  and  try  to  bring  her  to  terms. 

Mrs.  Carrington,  returning  from  a  shopping 
tour,  greeted  him  as  he  anticipated. 

"You  will  dine  with  us,  Walter?" 

''  With  pleasure,  if  you  will  accept  me  as 
I  am." 

:t  We  are  alone  evenings  now  —  we  have  no 
heart  for  anything."  She  let  her  gloves  slip 
heedlessly  to  the  floor,  and  sighed.  "  It  is  a 
wretched  day.  I  am  all  unstrung.  It  is  a  little 
more  than  three  months  since  she  left." 

"  Mrs.  Carrington,  we  must  try  to  be 
strong." 

"  Oh,  I  feel  for  you,  too,"  she  answered 
hastily,  discerning  a  shade  of  rebuke  in  his 
voice.  "  We  must  help  each  other.  John  will 
not  speak  her  name;  we  sit  in  silence.  Wal- 
ter, how  could  she  marry  so  ?  " 

238 


THE   SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  No  wedding  gown,  nothing,  just  a  com- 
mon plebeian  ceremony." 

"  It  was  to  have  been  so  different." 

'  To  think  of  not  knowing  the  day,  not  even 
being  able  to  think  of  her  and  wish  her  hap- 
piness. She  never  leaves  my  thoughts.  At 
night  I  lie  awake,  wondering  how  she  is  get- 
ting home  from  the  theater;  if  she  is  going 
alone,  or  if  he  is  with  her." 

They  heard  Mr.  Carrington  come  into  the 
hall,  and  with  unwonted  slowness  take  off  his 
coat  and  gloves,  almost  as  if  he  regretted 
that  he  had  reached  home.  His  tread  was 
reluctant  as  he  came  into  the  library  and 
his  greeting  preoccupied.  There  was  no  play 
of  expression  on  his  face,  only  stern,  set 
lines. 

"  Good  evening,  Walter." 

The  two  men  shook  hands.  Then  Mr.  Car- 
rington went  to  kiss  his  wife  coldly  on  the 
forehead. 

239 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"Busy  day?"  suggested  Scribner  in  an  at- 
tempt to  bridge  the  pause. 

"  Very." 

"  I  heard  to-day  that  this  weather  is  bad  for 
the  crops." 

"  Yes." 

"Will  this  affect  your  business?" 

"  Yes." 

Mr.  Carrington  was  so  uncommunicative,  in 
spite  of  Walter's  worthy  attempts  to  draw  him 
out,  that  the  announcement  of  dinner  came  as 
a  welcome  break  to  a  situation  that  was  grow- 
ing intolerably  strained.  At  the  table,  Leslie 
endeavored  to  keep  up  a  chatter  about  things 
furthermost  from  the  topic  nearest  to  all.  She 
knew  that  she  must  be  as  brave  as  Jane 
would  have  been  if  placed  in  such  a  position, 
and  she  made  the  effort,  proving  herself  to  be 
a  real  tactician  in  spite  of  her  immaturity. 
She  continued  to  call  Walter  "  Scribie,"  but  he 
knew  by  the  angry  little  glances  she  shot  at 
him  now  and  again  that  he  was  not  to  take 

240 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

her  talking  to  him  as  a  sign  of  her  forgive- 
ness. This  unyielding  attitude  served  only  to 
whet  his  interest,  and  he  was  determined  now 
that  he  would  call  again  the  next  day  and  at- 
tempt to  get  himself  back  into  her  good  graces. 
Leslie  was  becoming  more  interesting  as  she 
grew  up. 

As  he  fastidiously  ate  his  dessert  and  talked 
pleasant  banalities  to  Mrs.  Carrington,  the 
clock  struck  eight  in  Bryce  Gordon's  New 
York  study,  and  Jane,  tired  and  cold,  came 
into  the  room  she  called  her  home.  It  had  an 
air  of  home  about  it  now  that  Jane  had  added 
her  personal  treasures,  —  two  or  three  enam- 
eled jewel  cases,  several  favorite  prints  and 
some  heavily  embroidered  Japanese  scarfs.  On 
the  tea-table,  always  ready  for  a  chance  guest, 
stood  her  silver  vase  filled  with  fresh  violets, 
Bryce's  one  extravagance  because  she  was  fond 
of  them. 

It  had  been  a  long  day  of  shopping,  re- 
hearsal and  trying  on  of  costumes.  Jane  put 

241 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

her  parcels  down  on  the  couch,  took  off  her 
hat  and  coat,  and  went  down  on  her  knees  to 
light  the  ready-laid  fire.  As  it  flashed  up  with 
a  swift,  tindery  crackle,  the  flames  threw  her 
face  into  relief.  It  was  thinner,  but  its  ex- 
pression was  very  sweet. 

Then,  instead  of  thinking  how  tired  she 
was,  she  unwrapped  the  parcels  she  had 
brought  in  and  began  to  lay  a  tea-table  with 
dainty  morsels  from  the  delicatessen  store. 
Every  now  and  then  she  glanced  at  the  clock 
or  listened  to  footsteps  passing.  Bryce  was 
late. 

At  last  some  one  paused.  The  knob  turned, 
and  Jane  looked  up  with  a  greeting  smile. 

"  I  thought  you  'd  never  get  here,"  she  said, 
busy  with  an  olive  bottle.  "  And  where  did 
you  get  the  daisies  ?  " 

As  she  turned  to  the  table,  Bryce  kissed  the 
cluster  of  white-and-gold  blossoms  before  he 
laid  them  down. 

"  They  made  me  think  of  spring,"  he  said 
242 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

in  the  boyish  tone  that  always  touched  Jane. 
"  I  was  hunched  up  in  my  overcoat,  with  the 
wind  whistling  down  my  collar-bone,  and  they 
came  right  out  of  a  florist's  window  and 
grabbed  at  my  pocket." 

''  Boo-oo !  "  Jane  shivered.  '  The  Spring- 
timiest  thing  I  Ve  seen  is  that  blessed  grate 
fire.  But  they  are  lovely,  just  the  same.  I 
must  put  them  in  water." 

'  They  '11  be  our  center-piece.  I  had  the 
same  inspiration  for  supper  here  that  you  did. 
Look!  —  I  bought  all  this  stuff." 

They  laughed  over  their  similar  selection  of 
eatables,  and  then  Jane  picked  up  the  daisies, 
arranging  them  carefully  in  a  Japanese  jar. 
Bryce  watched  her  with  wistful  eyes. 

"  I  hardly  know  this  place  any  longer,"  he 
observed.  "  You  Ve  made  a  home  out  of  a 
barrack." 

"  It  takes  a  woman  to  muss  up  a  man's  pet 
belongings,  does  n't  it  ?  What 's  the  bachelor's 
motto  —  a  chair  for  everything  and  everything 

243 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

on  its  chair  ?  Give  me  one  good  mark,  any 
way;  I  never  dust  your  desk." 

He  smiled  and  glanced  over  to  the  manu- 
script-piled table  where  lay  the  half-finished 
draft  of  his  novel.  Jane,  though  she  did  not 
know  it  yet,  had  taken  possession  of  the  novel 
as  she  had  of  the  rooms.  Bryce's  heart  and 
soul  were  full  of  her,  but  he  dared  not  tell  her 
of  his  love,  lest  she  break  the  compact  that 
bound  them  together  and  vanish  like  a  butter- 
fly, alarmed. 

"  Do  I  add  another  egg  to  this?  "  she  asked, 
pausing  above  the  chafing-dish,  and  start- 
ling him  from  his  momentary  reverie.  He 
jumped  up  and  took  possession  of  the  spoon, 
swiftly. 

"  Hold  on !  You  Ve  got  enough  for  a  regi- 
ment." 

"  'Scuse  me!  "  Jane  put  the  egg  away  gin- 
gerly. "  You  don't  know  how  hungry  I  am. 
.  .  .  Why  did  n't  I  ever  take  up  domestic  sci- 
ence ?  I  've  had  courses  in  almost  everything 

244 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

else ;  but  you  can't  eat  place-cards  and  shadow- 
embroidery.    Your  cookery  dazzles  me." 

"  We  '11  fill  you  up  and  get  that  tired  look 
out  of  your  face  in  a  minute,"  said  Bryce, 
stirring  skillfully,  and  wondering  if  Jane  knew 
how  his  pulses  throbbed  at  her  nearness.  "  It 's 
been  a  hard  day,  has  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  f  retty.  The  dressmaker  stood  me  up 
with  pins  in  me  for  hours,  and  rehearsal  was 
annoying." 

"  I  thought  it  went  better  to-day  than 
usual." 

Even  so  small  a  compliment  pleased  Jane. 
"Did  you  really  think  I'd  improved?  I've 
tried  so  hard  on  that  bit  at  the  end  of  the 
second  act." 

"  I  noticed  it.  You  got  it  across  splendidly. 
But  Beatrice  Drake  does  n't  seem  to  be  doing 
any  better." 

"  She  's  out  of  harmony  with  her  part,  I 
think." 

"  Chadwick  says  it  will  be  a  go,  anyway." 
245 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Oh,  of  course.  It 's  going  to  take  like  hot 
cakes.  Why,  that  play  is  your  future  and  mine 
—  it  must  succeed  —  we  must  win  together." 

"  Here  's  hoping." 

Bryce  added  a  dash  of  paprika  to  the  eggs 
and  helped  Jane  to  a  generous  portion. 

"  Hoping,  indeed,"  said  Jane  with  her  first 
bite.  '  The  very  daisies  are  looking  at  you 
reproachfully  for  the  shadow  of  a  doubt 
about  it." 

'  The  daisies  are  impertinent,"  said  Bryce 
imperturbably.  "  Also,  they  are  hiding  you 
from  me.  .  .  .  There,  that 's  better.  Now  I 
can  look  at  you  undisturbed." 

Jane  felt  herself  blushing,  and  to  hide  it 
jumped  up  and  busied  herself  with  the  tea- 
kettle. She  chided  herself  for  the  blush  —  it 
was  unreasonable  of  her,  she  told  herself. 
Bryce  meant  nothing  but  a  friendly  compli- 
ment, and  here  she  was  blushing  as  if  they 
were  more  to  each  other  than  good  friends. 

She   came   back   to   the   table   with   cheerful 

246 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

matter-of-factness  on  her  face,  and  ate  scram- 
bled eggs  with  an  appetite. 

"  Sure  you  are  n't  regretting  anything, 
Jane?"  said  Bryce  presently  in  a  sober  tone. 
"  You  're  risking  a  lot  in  this  venture  of 
mine.  Don't  you  ever  want  to  go  back  to  the 
fleshpots?" 

"  No."  Jane  was  swiftly  sure.  "  I  'm  just 
beginning  to  get  the  savour  of  life." 

"  Does  it  seem  complete  ?  " 

"  Quite  complete.  I  never  had  so  much  real 
pleasure  out  of  existence  since  I  was  born." 

Bryce  lowered  his  eyes  in  a  disappointment 
that  she  must  not  see.  She  was  unawakened, 
untouched,  comradely  in  a  blank  indifference  to 
the  love  that  tore  at  him  whenever  she  was  by. 
Perhaps  when  the  play  was  a  success  she  might 
be  different,  less  absorbed.  Surely  work  would 
not  be  enough  for  her  always. 

Jane  was  busy  with  other  thoughts. 

"  Bryce,  why  won't  you  tell  me  about  your 

novel  ?    You  were  so  enthusiastic  about  it  yes- 

247 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

terday  that  I  nearly  broke  my  promise  not  to 
read  it  until  after  the  opening  night." 

"  Oh,  it 's  only  a  rough  draft  yet.  I  told 
you  about  it  the  day  you  asked  me  to  help 
you  choose  your  hat.  Don't  you  remember  ?  I 
said  the  black-eyed- Susans  were  like  your 
eyes." 

"  You  have  n't  even  told  me  its  name." 

He  laughed  at  her  pouting  face.  "  I  shall 
call  it  after  you,  Mrs.  Gordon." 

"  Now  you  are  making  fun  of  me." 

"  Of  course  I  am.  How  could  one  help  it? 
When  you  look  like  that  I  lose  the  regal  Jane 
and  see  only  a  little  girl." 

"  I  'm  old  enough  to  be  married." 

"  So  you  are.    And  happy?  " 

"  Of  course.  Bryce,  you  're  a  dear  —  truly 
you  are." 

He  leaned  toward  her  quickly  and  brushed 
his  hand  lightly  across  her  hair.  Jane  smiled 
up  at  him,  accepting  the  caress  without  emo- 
tion, and  he  gripped  himself  to  keep  from  tak- 

248 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

ing  her  in  his  arms.  Instead,  he  nodded  in  the 
direction  of  the  novel. 

"  If  the  play  is  n't  a  success,  that  stuff  burns 
on  the  opening  night.  I  've  risked  everything 
on  this  turn  of  the  wheel.  If  it  does  make  a 
hit,  you  shall  read  it  —  every  word." 

Jane  was  so  tired  after  they  had  cleared  away 
the  tea-things  that  for  a  moment  she  wished 
Bryce  would  complete  the  caress  he  had  half 
made.  She  wanted  to  be  petted,  to  put  her 
head  on  his  shoulder  and  feel  that  some  one 
was  stronger  than  she.  For  weeks  there  had 
been  no  one  to  mother  her,  now  that  Kate  was 
gone,  and  to-night  she  felt  the  need  of  a  human 
touch  desperately.  She  watched  his  fingers  as 
he  filled  his  pipe,  and  wished  she  could  slip  her 
own  into  their  strong  grasp.  He  looked  so 
comfortable,  so  homelike,  sitting  in  the  chair 
at  the  other  side  of  the  hearth,  his  pipe  between 
his  lips,  the  blue  smoke  rising  in  lazy  spirals! 
If  she  could  only  get  down  on  her  knees  before 

him  and  pillow  her  head  on  his  arm  and  whis- 

249 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

per  how  much  she  honored  him  for  his  cour- 
tesy, kindness,  thoughtf ulness ;  if  she  could 
only  relax  and  let  the  weight  of  existence  drop 
from  her  shoulders!  Not  once  had  Bryce  of- 
fended her  in  word  or  action;  and  yet  he  was 
all  a  man.  Jane  shut  her  eyes  and  nestled 
closer  into  her  big  chair.  Of  course  she 
could  n't  do  it ;  they  were  only  comrades,  and 
if  she  made  any  advances  it  would  be  embar- 
rassing for  him. 

It  was  not  until  she  seemed  asleep  that  Bryce 
permitted  himself  to  gaze  at  her  steadily,  tak- 
ing in  every  feature  of  her  face,  every  line  of 
her  relaxed  body,  with  a  look  that  seemed  to 
kiss  and  adore.  At  first  he  looked  at  her  ten- 
derly, as  at  a  gift  given  him  to  treasure,  to 
wonder  at,  not  to  touch  but  to  keep  sacred, 
even  from  himself.  But  from  whom  was  he 
protecting  her?  Was  there  any  with  a  better 
claim  than  his?  Dared  there  be  any  one?  If 
she  wished  it  —  perhaps  —  and  yet  could  he 
not  demand  her  love,  find  out  if  her  cheeks  felt 

250 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

as  much  like  cool  rose-leaves  as  they  looked, 
if  her  lips  were  not  a  thousand  times  sweeter 
than  he  guessed? 

"  A  mean,  cowardly,  despicable  advantage !  " 
cried  Conscience.  "  You  are  not  worthy  of  her. 
You  have  never  made  a  success  of  anything. 
She  is  in  the  world  for  you  to  worship  — 
nothing  more." 

Pale  to  his  lips,  Bryce  sprang  from  his  chair 
and,  forcing  himself  away  in  the  direction  of 
his  desk,  spoke  sharply. 

"  You  're  falling  asleep.  You  had  better  go 
to  bed  and  get  your  rest." 

She  had  not  been  asleep,  but,  startled  and 
hurt  by  his  tone,  she  rose  slowly  and  gathered 
up  her  hat  and  coat. 

:<  I  'm  sorry  to  have  kept  you  up,"  she  said 
humbly,  and  then  left  the  room  hurriedly,  that 
she  might  hide  her  lonely  tears. 

After  the  door  had  closed,  Bryce  seized 
her  forgotten  muff  and  crushed  his  lips 
against  it. 

251 


CHAPTER   X 

However  strangely  the  nights  passed  —  and 
later  the  memory  of  many  of  them  was  very 
sweet  —  the  days  were  too  full  of  serious  work 
to  permit  of  romantic  meditation.  In  the 
morning  Jane  would  hurry  off  alone  to  the 
theater,  leaving  Bryce  engrossed  with  the  novel 
growing  on  his  desk.  A  few  hours  later  he 
would  follow  to  see  how  the  interpretation  of 
his  play  was  progressing,  only  to  go  away 
every  afternoon  more  angered  at  the  liberties 
the  manager  and  actors  had  taken  with  his 
text.  He  had  tried  to  object  in  the  beginning, 
but  as  the  professionals  in  the  business  of  the 
theater  treated  his  remarks  as  the  impractical 
vaporings  of  an  amateur,  he  had  come  to  ac- 
cept their  innovations  in  furious  silence  and 
to  look  forward  to  the  opening  night  as  a  con- 
demned man  awaits  the  hour  of  his  hanging. 

252 


THE    SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

Jane  gave  him  all  the  encouragement  she 
could,  and  that  was  more  than  she  felt.  Hour 
by  hour  the  play  grew  worse  in  her  eyes.  The 
endless  rejiearsals,  the  long  fittings  of  costumes, 
were  beginning  to  tell  on  her  health.  She  felt 
herself  growing  nervous  and  petulant;  she  had 
to  make  an  unusual  effort  to  remember  her 
cues;  she  had  to  write  down  errands  lest  she 
forget  them;  she  often  caught  herself  in  the 
rehearsals,  when  her  whole  attention  should 
have  been  concentrated  on  her  part,  thinking 
of  home  and  the  years  she  had  spent  there. 
She  began  to  dislike  her  work;  she  felt  de- 
pressed in  her  pale  blue  and  green  costumes 
and  longed  for  the  warm,  invigorating  rose 
and  cherry  shades  selected  by  the  star.  She 
chafed  under  the  rigid  managerial  discipline, 
shivered  at  sight  of  the  black  auditorium,  and 
hated  the  actor  with  whom  most  of  her  scenes 
were  cast.  Her  nights  were  restless,  thoughts 
of  Bryce  dancing  mad  dances  in  her  mind  with 
the  lines  of  her  part  and  the  fear  of  failure. 

253 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

When  the  Monday  came  at  last,  she  dragged 
herself  to  the  theater.  There  a  black  cat 
crossed  her  path,  and  the  superstitious  mem- 
bers of  the  company  looked  at  each  other 
forebodingly. 

"  How  is  the  rehearsal  going?  "  they  asked, 
in  real  need  of  encouragement,  as  Bryce  came 
back  from  the  stage  box. 

"  I  never  wrote  the  play,"  he  cried  hope- 
lessly. "  It 's  the  most  absurd  thing  that  ever 
stumbled  on  its  legs.  I  disclaim  all  ownership." 

The  actors  groaned  and  Jane  fled,  white  with 
fear,  to  her  dressing-room.  She  did  not  see 
how  they  could  ever  face  the  public  that  was 
awaiting  them,  the  public  that  numbered  so 
many  of  her  curious  acquaintances. 

And  that  night  they  were  all  there,  in  the 
boxes  and  orchestra,  where  the  footlights 
showed  up  their  familiar,  smiling  faces.  They 
received  the  star's  entrance  with  applause,  but 
gave  Jane  the  silence  of  expectation.  Its  lack 
of  stimulation  reacted  on  her  sensitive  mood, 

254 


THE   SLOUGH    OF   DESPOND 

giving  her  no  encouragement,  no  feeling  of 
their  friendliness,  and  instead  of  exhilarat- 
ing her  with  a  promise  of  favor,  emphasized 
her  desperate  uncertainty.  In  her  endeavor 
to  play  her  best  she  overshot  the  mark 
with  strained  technique  at  the  expense  of 
spontaneity. 

The  public  that  loved  Beatrice  Drake  in 
ingenue  roles  were  out  of  sympathy  with  her 
new  interpretation.  They  had  come  to  be 
amused,  but  were  doomed  to  listen  to  philos- 
ophy; they  had  come  to  laugh  and  were  in- 
vited to  think.  As  the  first  cordiality  wore 
away  they  became  critical,  indifferent,  un- 
responsive. 

Jane  saw  strange  expressions  creep  into  the 
faces  of  her  friends.  Little  smiles  of  scorn 
sought  answering  smiles,  eyes  met  eyes  in 
puzzled  inquiry,  brows  grew  wrinkled  with 
disappointment.  Then  attention  began  to 
wander,  and  they  no  longer  seemed  to  under- 
stand the  lines.  That  was  the  worst  of  all. 

255 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Jane  raised  her  voice  and  increased  her  em- 
phasis, but  a  sledge-hammer  attack  is  not 
magnetism,  and  in  Jane's  case  they  served  to 
make  her  interpretation  seem  vastly  overdone. 

Many  of  Jane's  best  friends  did  not  remain 
to  witness  her  humiliation.  Some  of  the  critics 
left  before  the  climax;  all  immediately  after. 
During  the  last  act  the  players  made  a  brave 
effort  to  rally,  but  the  people  who  remained 
were  those  who  sat  to  the  end  merely  to  "  get 
their  money's  worth." 

The  final  curtain  fell  at  last,  and  as  the 
weary  stragglers  left  the  theater  the  manager 
stormed  about  the  stage. 

"  Burn  it !  burn  it !  "  he  shrieked  at  Bryce. 
"  It 's  a  failure !  We  Ve  all  failed ;  everything 
that  we  backed  it  with  has  gone  to  smash.  I 
wish  to  God  we  could  shut  up  the  newspapers." 

The  scene-shifters  struck  the  scenes  in  omi- 
nous silence;  actors  and  actresses  stole  away 
like  whipped  dogs;  the  stage  doorkeeper  was 
dumb  as  they  passed  out;  the  star  crept  un- 

256 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

escorted  to  her  carriage ;  the  leading  man  went 
with  bowed  head;  the  playwright  had  fled 
unnoticed;  the  manager,  mumbling  curses, 
turned  out  the  lights,  and  silence  fell  upon 
the  theater. 

Bryce  was  not  in  their  rooms  when  Jane 
came  in.  She  had  hoped  he  would  be  there. 
She  was  so  wounded,  so  sick  at  heart,  so  des- 
perate, so  intolerably  lonely!  She  had  tried 
so  hard  to  win  the  world's  fame,  and  after  all 
her  pains  the  world  had  turned  its  back  on 
her,  laughed  and  left  her  alone.  Even  her 
husband  deserted  her.  Her  husband!  It  was 
a  mockery ;  she  had  none.  Failure !  She  had 
said  to  Ludwig  Darenbeck :  "  Suppose  I  should 
give  up  everything  only  to  fail;  that  would 
kill  me."  Well,  she  had  failed.  New  York 
was  laughing  at  her.  Her  father's  judgment 
would  be  vindicated.  She  could  picture  Scrib- 
ner's  sneering  smile.  Bryce  would  hate  her 
for  making  a  failure  of  his  play.  Darenbeck 
would  not  despise  her,  but  he  would  pity  her. 

257 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

She  did  not  want  pity.  She  wanted  the  world's 
homage;  she  needed  its  flattery,  she  demanded 
its  respect.  And  in  place  of  these  the  world 
gave  its  laughter. 

She  sank  into  the  nearest  chair,  the  one  be- 
fore Bryce's  writing-table,  and,  pressing  her 
hands  against  her  temples,  sought  to  still  their 
throbbing.  She  closed  her  eyes,  but  the  dark- 
ness served  only  to  intensify  her  grief  and  she 
opened  them,  staring  vaguely  down  at  the 
manuscript  heaped  before  her. 

"  More  rubbish !  More  rubbish !  How  it 
must  hurt  him,  this  failure/'  she  murmured 
half  aloud,  and  forgetting  her  own  tragedy 
she  began  to  think  of  him. 

Where  was  he?  Why  did  he  not  come? 
Could  he  ever  know  hope  again?  They  had 
been  conceited  fools  to  think  they  could  win 
a  world's  approbation  —  she,  a  mediocre  ac- 
tress, and  he,  a  deluded  scribbler! 

What   had   been   gained   by   the   hours   of 

patient  effort  squandered  on  the  manuscript 

258 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

before  her?  Her  nervous  fingers  scattered 
the  loose  typewritten  pages,  and,  though  her 
eyes  wandered  aimlessly  over  the  lines,  they 
caught  no  meaning.  She  was  weary,  she  did 
not  care.  Why  did  he  not  come?  He  had 
made  her  promise  not  to  read  the  novel  until 
after  the  opening  night.  She  wondered  again 
vaguely  why.  Perhaps  he  had  feared  its  un- 
worthiness  would  shake  her  faith  in  his  ability. 
Her  faith  was  shaken  now  and  she  did  not 
care  to  read  it.  What  did  anything  matter 
now?  It  was  cruel  of  him  not  to  come.  Her 
eyes  still  rested  on  the  lines  on  the  papers  be- 
fore her. 

"  She  had  yellow  daisies  in  her  hair,"  Jane 
read  carelessly ;  "  daisies  with  great  dark  cen- 
ters, that  were  like  her  eyes."  That  was  curi- 
ous, she  thought,  without  heeding  the  words 
particularly.  Bryce  had  once  compared  her 
own  eyes  to  daisies.  She  read  on. 

"  Anne  was  tired  that  night,  and  lay  back 
in  the  arm-chair  like  a  weary  child.  Does  a 

259 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

woman  realize  always  when  a  man  loves  her? 
If  you  ask  a  conventional  woman,  she  will 
evade  the  point  skillfully;  if  you  question  a 
woman  who  prides  herself  on  her  frankness 
and  modernity,  she  will  say  yes.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  she  did  not  know  I  loved  her?  Her 
frank  comradely  manner  showed  no  signs  of 
self -consciousness,  no  slightest  indication  of  so 
much  as  a  quickened  pulse-throb  when  I  was 
near.  Once,  indeed,  I  thought  she  flushed,  but 
instantly  she  rose  from  the  table  to  busy 
herself  with  the  kettle,  and  I  could  not  be 
sure." 

"The  kettle!"  thought  Jane.  "What 
kettle  ? "  She  remembered  very  keenly  the 
night  they  had  eaten  supper  at  home,  and  he 
had  moved  the  daisies  aside  so  that  he  might 
look  at  her.  She  had  lain  back  in  the  big 
chair  afterwards  and  closed  her  eyes,  too,  just 
as  this  Anne  he  was  describing  had  done. 
Could  it  possibly  be  —  ?  She  left  the  question 
unformulated  and  read  swiftly  on,  her  face 

260 


THE    SLOUGH   OF   DESPOND 

very  grave,  but  joy  dawning  behind  it  like  a 
rosy  sunrise  breaking  between  clouds.  Bryce 
could  write,  and  on  the  paper  he  had  put  his 
heart  until  she  could  almost  see  it  beating. 
This  was  no  cold-blooded,  deliberate  novel- 
writing  —  it  was  alive,  breathing,  the  voice  of 
a  man  torn  by  a  great  love  pent  up,  a  man 
yearning  to  touch,  to  revere,  to  cherish,  to 
spend  on  the  beloved  the  long-strangled  affec- 
tion of  a  rich  and  powerful  nature.  And  be- 
yond a  shadow  of  a  doubt  the  woman  he  loved 
was  Jane. 

Slowly  she  drew  a  blank  sheet  of  paper 
across  the  page  she  read,  as  if  covering  some- 
thing too  sacred  to  be  seen.  Tears  came,  hot, 
burning,  to  her  eyes,  and  fell  from  her  long, 
black  lashes  upon  the  manuscript  above  which 
she  bowed  her  head. 

So  this  was  Bryce's  secret!  Jane's  heart 
went  out  to  him  in  a  sudden  flood  of  tender- 
ness. She  must  make  up  to  him  for  the  fail- 
ure of  the  play;  she  yearned  to  comfort  him. 

261 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

He  had  done  everything  for  her,  and  she  had 
given  nothing  in  return.  She  must  be  every- 
thing to  him,  now  that  the  play  had  failed. 
Why  did  he  not  come? 

The  door  opened  and  Bryce  came  in  wearily, 
tragedy  in  every  line  of  his  face.  After  all, 
she  thought,  it  was  his  play  that  had  failed, 
even  more  than  her  acting.  The  world  was 
laughing  at  him  more  than  at  her.  He  felt 
unutterably  alone.  Unseeingly  he  looked  at 
her  as  she  sat  frozen,  inhibited,  at  the  desk. 

"  Bryce !  "  she  spoke  at  last,  painfully. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  moved  slowly  towards 
her  and  laid  his  hands  on  the  pile  of  manu- 
script. There  was  no  anger  in  his  action  — 
only  the  calmness  of  despair.  He  had  risked 
his  all  —  and  lost.  She  laid  her  hands  over 
his  with  a  cry  of  restraint. 

"  No,  no !   Bryce !    I  Ve  read  it." 

He  drew  away  from  her. 

"  I  am  not  fit  for  anything,"  he  said  des- 
perately. 

262 


THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND 

"  It 's  mine,"  she  said,  yearning  over  him, 
reaching  shy  hands  up  to  him.  "  It 's  mine, 
Bryce;  don't  you  understand?  I've  read  it; 
I  know." 

He  looked  down  at  her,  a  gleam  coming  into 
his  dull  eyes. 

"You  — mean?" 

She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  drew 
him  down.  He  knelt  at  her  feet,  his  head 
against  her  breast,  her  lips  softly  kissing  his 
hair. 

"  My  dear !  "  she  murmured  softly.  "  My 
dear,  my  dear !  " 


263 


PART    THREE 
THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 


CHAPTER   XI 

Mr.  Carrington  left  the  folded  newspaper 
at  his  breakfast  plate  untouched,  but  he  slipped 
the  office  copies  into  his  private  room,  where, 
between  the  fear  of  Jane's  failure  and  the  hope 
of  her  success,  he  apprehensively  searched  the 
pages.  In  black  and  white  it  stared  at  him 
—  his  daughter  had  failed. 

The  world  wondered  and  gossiped,  laughed, 
pitied  and  forgot;  only  the  family  kept  on 
grieving.  They  were  more  sensitive  than  Jane 
and  Bryce,  who  had  life  to  take  up  anew  and 
were  far  too  busy  with  the  problem  to  concern 
themselves  with  spilt  milk. 

Jane  wakened  in  the  morning  to  a  sense  of 
calamity.  The  play  had  failed,  and  she  had 
told  Bryce  she  loved  him.  The  emotion  that 
had  borne  her  up  overnight  was  as  flat  by 
daylight  as  stale  champagne.  No  one  had  ever 

267 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

been  kinder  to  her  than  Bryce.  She  must 
repay  that  kindness  now,  in  this  hour  of  need. 
She  must  prove  herself  a  good  wife. 

She  lay  still  and  reflected,  trying  to  analyze 
the  situation.  Bryce  had  it  in  him  to  succeed 
—  she  was  certain  of  that.  He  would  want 
to  teach  now,  to  support  them,  but  she  must 
not  let  him.  She  must  keep  him  at  the  novel 
he  had  begun  for  her,  and  she  would  seek 
another  engagement.  Somehow  they  could 
tide  over,  and,  if  they  waited,  things  were  sure 
to  come  their  way.  Jane  had  learned  some- 
thing of  the  actor's  gambling  instinct  to  double 
the  stakes  and  go  on  in  a  losing  game.  At 
least  there  was  a  certain  dignity  in  suffering 
poverty  for  the  sake  of  art. 

Jane  got  out  of  bed  and,  quickly  dressing, 
began  to  get  breakfast.  Presently  Bryce  ap- 
peared, a  very  different  looking  man  from  the 
wrecked  and  ruined  creature  who  had  come 
in  from  the  failure  of  his  hope  a  few  hours 
before.  He  swept  Jane  up  in  an  embrace, 

268 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

apron,  spoon  and  all,  with  a  boy's  eagerness. 
She  came  submissively,  with  lowered  lids. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Jane?  " 

She  put  up  her  mouth  silently,  an  advantage 
promptly  taken  by  Bryce. 

"That's  all  I  ask  of  the  world,"  he  said 
joyously.  "  Nothing  makes  any  difference 
now.  I  '11  go  out  and  capture  a  manager  be- 
fore breakfast,  and  you  shall  stew  him  with 
onions.  Would  you  prefer  one  with  whiskers 
or  without  ?  " 

She  was  glad  of  his  absurd  gayety;  she  had 
feared  a  reaction. 

"  Without,  I  think,"  she  decided  gravely. 
"  And  be  sure  to  see  that  he  is  plump.  .  .  . 
Oh,  my  coffee  's  boiling  over !  "  and  with  house- 
wifely haste  she  freed  herself  from  his  arms. 
She  was  rather  glad  to  be  released;  it  made 
her  shy  to  have  him  touch  her,  vaguely  un- 
comfortable, on  the  defensive.  He  followed 
her  and  righted  the  coffee-pot  skillfully. 

;'  But   you   are   sure   you   love  me,   sweet- 
269 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

heart?  "  he  repeated,  turning  up  her  face  to 
his.  "  Absolutely-dead-certain-sure  ?  Open 
your  eyes  and  look  at  me." 

Captured  again,  Jane  blushed  and  drew 
away. 

"  Of  course  I  do  —  dear,"  she  assured  him. 

"Very  much?" 

"  Very  much." 

"Better  than  all  the  world?" 

Jane  pouted  playfully. 

"  Well,  we  '11  see  about  that.  I  won't  love 
you  at  all  if  you  don't  let  me  get  breakfast. 
.  .  .  No,  I  won't.  ...  I  will  not.  .  .  .  Oh, 
Bryce  —  please !  " 

But  Bryce  was  not  to  be  denied.  He  had 
waited  for  Jane  too  long,  and  there  was  no 
getting  him  to  be  serious  for  a  minute.  Break- 
fast was  a  kiss-interrupted  meal.  To  watch 
them,  no  one  would  have  thought  that  the  night 
before  they  had  seen  the  work  of  months 
ruined  in  an  hour.  Only  Jane  was  sometimes 

grave,  a  shadow  flitting  in  her  eyes. 

270 


THE   ROAD    TO    ROME 

But  playtime  must  be  short  where  there  is 
no  money  in  the  household  purse,  and  Bryce 
went  to  work  feverishly.  "  The  Price  of 
Power "  went  into  the  dust  heap,  Beatrice 
Drake  was  speedily  re-billed  in  "  The  Blue 
Bell "  and  Jane  obtained  an  ungrateful  part  in 
a  popular  comedy  that  had  been  running  in 
New  York  for  many  months. 

Next  to  Bryce,  the  greatest  consolation  Jane 
had  came  in  a  letter  from  Ludwig  Darenbeck. 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  trouble  and  I  think  of  you 
much.  I  know  of  your  life  only  what  I  have  read 
and  have  heard.  I  read  of  your  marriage  and  I  wish 
you  much  happiness.  I  know  that  the  world  has 
been  cold  to  you,  but  it  will  not  always  be  so.  Some- 
times the  world  is  only  a  little  slow.  Some  day  it 
will  be  proud  of  you.  I  send  my  highest  respects  to 
you  and  your  husband,  and  sign  myself, 
Yours  respectfully, 

LUDWIG  DARENBECK." 

His  encouragement  had  its  usual  impelling 
force;  Jane  put  the  note  in  her  gown,  that  it 
might  act  as  a  charm  for  success,  and  started 

271 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

out  gayly  for  a  morning  walk  and  bit  of  shop- 
ping. As  she  walked,  she  reflected  on  ways 
and  means.  Something  must  be  done  before 
long,  and  she  went  over  all  possibilities.  There 
was  that  other  play  of  Bryce's  —  "  The  Fire 
Opal  " ;  she  had  liked  it  better  than  "  The  Price 
of  Power  " ;  there  was  more  color  and  move- 
ment in  it.  Gaston  was  the  man  to  stage  a 
thing  like  that,  and  she  wished  he  could  see 
it.  Jane  paused  in  her  march.  Why  not  ?  She 
was  not  far  from  the  Gaston  Theater.  With 
swift  determination  she  turned  that  way. 

How  she  was  going  to  obtain  a  personal 
interview  with  Gaston,  that  mysterious,  re- 
nowned manager,  she  did  not  stop  to  consider, 
until  the  man  at  the  box  office  asked  if  she 
had  an  appointment. 

She  was  deep  in  explanation  of  her  place 
in  the  profession  when  another  man,  who  had 
seen  her  through  the  grating,  came  out  into 
the  foyer  by  way  of  a  cloak  room  at  the  side 

of  the  office.     He  was  very  big,  very  formi- 

272 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

dable,  Jane  thought,  and  yet  courteous,  with  an 
English  accent  that  matched  his  courtesy. 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Gaston  ?  Who  sent  you, 
may  I  ask?  " 

"  I  came  because  I  must  see  him.  Is  he 
here?" 

:<  I  don't  know ;  if  you  can  explain  your 
errand  to  me,  when  I  see  him  I  might  —  You 
wish  an  engagement  ?  " 

"  It  is  about  a  play." 

"  Ah,  yes.  I  am  Mr.  Wells.  Perhaps  you 
will  tell  me  about  it?" 

"When  do  you  think  I  could  see  Mr.  Gas- 
ton?"  continued  Jane,  not  unaware  of  the 
value  of  insistence. 

'  That  is  difficult  to  state.  Sometimes  days 
pass  without  my  seeing  him  at  all  —  he 
comes  and  goes.  He  is  not  well;  indeed,  the 
doctors  say  we  must  take  the  very  best  care 
of  him." 

Mr.  Wells  expatiated  quite  eloquently  upon 
the  doctor's  verdict. 

273 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Can  you  tell  me  anything  about  his  plans 
for  the  next  season?" 

"  He  has  not  acquainted  me  with  them." 
"  Would  he  read  a  play  if  I  sent  it  to  him?  " 
Mr.   Wells   welcomed  the  suggestion  with 
so  much  alacrity  that  Jane's  suspicions  were 
aroused. 

"  Ah,  yes.    That  would  be  the  best  plan  —  " 
"  How  long  would  it  take  him  to  read  it  ? ' 
"  That   would    depend    upon    his    strength. 
There  are,  of  course,  manuscripts  ahead  of 
yours." 

"  If  I  could  only  speak  to  him  —  for  only 
five  minutes!  Won't  you  please  go  back  and 
see  if  he  is  there?  I  'd  be  so  greatly  indebted 
to  you." 

Mr.  Wells  was  not  unkind  and  he  excused 
himself,  leaving  Jane  to  pace  the  small  square 
foyer  and  to  gaze  an  interminable  time  upon 
the  mosaic  frieze  of  the  artistic  room  until 
Mr.  Wells  came  back  with  a  noncommittal 

smile  and  a  graceful  air  of  dismissal. 

274 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

"  Mr.  Gaston  is  not  here  to-day." 

"  I  '11  wait,"  said  Jane  desperately. 

"  They  also  told  me  he  did  not  expect 
to  come  at  any  time  to-day,"  he  added 
blandly. 

Jane  left,  humiliated,  and  walked  three  blocks 
in  the  wrong  direction  before  she  realized  she 
was  on  the  street.  Then  she  upbraided  her- 
self for  the  way  she  had  bungled  the  inter- 
view. Gaston  could  congratulate  himself  upon 
possessing  so  estimable  a  body-guard.  She 
must  try  some  other  way.  That  night,  still 
keeping  her  plan  to  herself,  she  mailed  a  letter 
to  John  Gaston,  soliciting  a  five-minute  inter- 
view. Three  days  later  she  received  a  cour- 
teous note  from  his  secretary  saying  that  Mr. 
Gaston  was  out  of  town.  She  spent  two  mis- 
erable days  doubting  and  believing  the  excuse 
and  then,  unable  to  endure  the  uncertainty 
longer,  telephoned  to  the  hotel  where  she  had 
once  learned  he  lived. 

"  Out  of  town,"  came  the  answer. 
275 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  For  how  long?  " 

"  Could  n't  say." 

The  theater  and  hotel  agreed.  Jane  began 
asking  questions  in  the  Rialto. 

"  Does  any  one  ever  know  where  Gaston 
is  ?  "  she  inquired  of  an  old  actor. 

The  old  man  laughed. 

"  Gaston  is  a  wise  owl,  and  so  slippery  you 
can't  catch  him.  Don't  pin  any  of  your  faith 
to  him." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Lord,  have  n't  you  heard  he  's  the  best  jol- 
lier in  the  country?  Promises  everything 
and  never  keeps  a  promise." 

"  I  don't  believe  it!  "  cried  Jane  indignantly, 
for  all  her  life  Gaston  and  his  artistic  suc- 
cesses had  held  her  admiration. 

"  Well,  all  right,  then !  If  you  don't  believe 
it,  try  him  and  see." 

Jane  was  determined  she  would.  In  a  few 
days  she  telephoned  the  hotel  again.  The  main 
office  connected  her  with  his  apartments. 

276 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

"  Mr.  Gaston  speaks  only  by  appointment," 
was  the  answer. 

"  I  have  an  appointment,"  Jane  lied. 

"  He  is  sleeping.     I  cannot  disturb  him." 

Jane  kept  her  coolness. 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  call  again." 

It  was  nine-thirty  in  the  morning.  Jane 
had  been  too  early;  professionals  are  late 
risers.  Afraid  to  miss  him,  however,  she 
dared  to  call  again  at  ten.  The  same  voice 
answered. 

"  Mr.  Gaston  has  just  left  for  the  theater." 

Could  he  have  dressed  and  eaten  breakfast 
in  half  an  hour  ?  She  allowed  him  three-quar- 
ters more  to  reach  the  theater,  then  tried  to 
get  him  there. 

"  Mr.  Gaston  has  not  come  in  yet." 

Jane  banged  up  the  receiver.  Where  was 
Gaston?  She  must  reach  him  some  other  way. 
Another  week  sped  by.  Bryce  was  working 
out  a  new  idea  for  a  play  that  was  to  bring 

in  their  ship.     Jane  hoped  it  would,  but  she 

277 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

was  losing  her  confidence.  It  was  all  so  hard ; 
it  was  all  such  a  crazy  sort  of  a  honeymoon. 
She  wondered  what  their  love  would  be  like 
if  they  had  leisure,  now  they  were  both  work- 
ing so  hard  to  make  provision  against  actual 
need. 

All  the  time  she  was  silently  concentrating 
upon  her  determination  to  see  Gaston,  won- 
dering how  she  could  meet  him,  and  suddenly 
her  thoughts  crystallized.  She  recalled  having 
heard  the  father  of  a  dear  girl  friend  of  hers 
say  he  had  known  Gaston  in  his  youth.  Might 
he  not  aid  her  ?  With  hope  soaring  again,  Jane 
sent  a  pleading  letter  to  Laurence  Abbott  and 
waited  for  an  answer. 

Laurence  Abbott  was  a  man  of  influence  and 
power.  He  was  devoted  to  his  daughter  and 
most  generous  to  her  friends.  He  was  also 
naturally  kind.  With  a  personal  letter  wish- 
ing Jane  success,  he  enclosed  a  note  of  intro- 
duction to  Gaston.  Jane  mailed  it,  and  the 
answer  was  swift. 

278 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  SOUTH,  —  Mr.  Gasfon  wishes 
me  to  say  he  will  be  very  happy  to  see  you  at  his 
theater  at  ten  forty-five  to-morrow  night,  if  that 
will  suit  your  convenience. 

Very  truly  yours, 

RUFUS  WALKER." 

Would  it  be  convenient?  Jane  would  have 
broken  an  engagement  with  a  king  to  keep  the 
appointment ! 

On  the  great  night  of  the  interview  she  tele- 
phoned Bryce,  in  the  second  intermission  of  the 
play  in  which  she  was  acting,  that  he  need  not 
come  for  her  as  usual,  as  they  had  called  a 
rehearsal  after  the  play,  and  that  a  member 
of  the  company  would  escort  her  home.  Bryce 
believed  her,  and  Jane  was  free  to  go  to  the 
Gaston  Theater,  where  she  was  met  at  the 
door  by  Mr.  Wells,  who  affably  handed  her 
over  to  another  young  man,  who  said  he  would 
tell  Mr.  Gaston  of  her  arrival.  A  colored  boy 
swung  back  a  carved  gold-and-brown  gate  and 
ushered  her  up  a  narrow  staircase  leading  into 

darkness.     At  a  turn  in  the  stairs  the  boy 

279 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

opened  the  door  of  a  dark  room,  switched  on 
the  lights,  bowed  and  withdrew,  closing  the 
door  behind  him. 

Jane  found  herself  alone  in  a  cozy  room 
above  the  box  office.  One  low  curtained  win- 
dow overlooked  the  foyer  and  another  looked 
down  upon  the  paved  alley  leading  to  the  stage 
door.  Jane  had  an  unpleasant  feeling  that 
from  some  secret  place  Gaston  could  see  her. 
She  imagined  that  his  eyes  were  watching  her 
from  some  concealed  spot,  and  she  therefore 
retained  all  her  dignity,  assuming  a  calmness 
she  did  not  feel  as  she  took  in  the  details  of 
the  room.  It  was  charming.  There  were 
brown  velvet  portieres,  graceful  big  chairs,  a 
small  chair,  a  quaint  inlaid  mahogany  writing- 
table,  a  larger  table,  some  choice  folios  and  — 
The  knob  turned  in  the  door  as  it  opened  to 
Gaston.  His  white  hair  loomed  out  of  the 
darkness  of  the  hall,  —  his  white  hair  and  the 
stiff  white  collar  of  his  priest-like  coat.  He 

came  in,  closed  the  door,  and  offered  Jane  his 

280 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

hand.  His  manner  was  so  gentle,  so  diffident, 
that  it  surprised  away  the  words  of  greeting 
with  which  she  had  fortified  herself. 

"  How  do  you  do,"  he  said  gently.  "  And 
so  you  are  a  friend  of  Mr.  Abbott.  I  am 
very  fond  of  Mr.  Abbott." 

He  motioned  her  to  be  seated.  She  selected 
the  chair  she  thought  would  become  her  most 
and  he  took  the  smallest  one.  He  was  short, 
but  one  forgot  his  size  when  one  looked  at  his 
head  —  a  fine,  shapely  head,  with  glorious  hair 
that  stood  up  in  thick  white  waves.  There 
were  shaggy  iron-gray  eyebrows,  scowling  over 
eyes  that  might  be  as  soft  as  velvet  or  aflame 
like  living  coals.  They  were  sleepy-looking 
that  evening,  and  he  lowered  his  lids  often. 
His  lids  drooped  pathetically  and  his  youth- 
ful face  was  pallid  and  drawn.  He  looked, 
Jane  thought,  like  a  very  great  man  wearing 
out  in  the  fight  of  life. 

"  I  have  waited,  oh,  so  many  years,  for 
this  opportunity !  "  she  said.  "  I  can  hardly 

281 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

realize  I  am  really  talking  to  the  great 
Gas'ton." 

A  rare  smile  illumined  his  sensitive  lips. 

"  I  am  not  well  to-night  —  I  have  been  ill. 
My  doctors  try  to  keep  me  quiet,  but  I  must 
be  around.  I  can't  be  quiet." 

"  It  is  so  hard  to  get  to  you ! " 

"Tome?" 

'Yes;   your  staff  of  men  guard  you  well/' 

"  Am  I  really  so  difficult  to  reach  as  they 
tell  me?" 

"  Indeed  you  are." 

"  And  so  you  want  to  become  an  actress  ?  " 

Jane  was  annoyed.  She  had  written  in  her 
letter  that  she  had  a  play.  The  fact  that 
Gaston  asked  the  question  showed  how  little 
attention  he  had  given  her  letter.  Details  for 
the  secretary,  no  doubt  —  only  big  issues  for 
Gaston.  The  interview  was  given  solely  on 
the  strength  of  Abbott's  influence. 

"  I  am  an  actress,  and  I  am  anxious  for  an 

engagement,  it  is  true;    but  at  present  I  am 

282 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

more  concerned  about  a  play  a  —  a  friend  of 
mine  has  written." 

Because  Jane  stammered  over  the  fib,  Gaston 
jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  she  was  trying 
to  conceal  the  fact  that  she  had  written  the 
play  herself. 

"  Is  that  it?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  four 
slim  blue  books  she  had  placed  on  the  table. 
As  he  made  no  move  towards  them  she  got 
up  and  carried  them  to  him.  He  fingered  them 
idly,  reading  the  title  aloud,  as  if  mentally 
spelling  it:  "The  Fire  Opal." 

:t  The  star  part  is  that  of  a  woman  who 
can  and  does  pull  the  wool  over  men's  eyes 
until  her  own  misdeeds  begin  to  react  upon 
her,"  Jane  ventured. 

"Is  it  vital?  We  have  to  cater  to  blase 
men  about  town  who  want  their  emotions 
aroused.  We  must  have  something  that  will 
thrill  them." 

"  I  am  sure  that  this  will.    Oh,  Mr.  Gaston, 

it  must!    You  must  produce  this  play.    There 

283 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

are  splendid  opportunities  for  your  stagecraft, 
plenty  of  subtleties  for  you  to  bring  out.  The 
part  of  Opal  is  a  tremendous  characteriza- 
tion —  oh,  if  I  could  only  play  it  myself  —  the 
part  holds  such  possibilities!  For  instance,  in 
the  first  act  —  there  where  the  Fire  Opal  first 
realizes  the  evil  charm  her  beauty  exerts  — 
she  is  appalled  that  a  man  would  think  of  mur- 
dering another  in  order  to  gain  possession  of 
her.  Then  she  begins  to  trifle  with  this  power. 
She  does  it  out  of  curiosity  at  first,  to  see 
what  she  can  do;  and  then  gets  so  entangled 
in  the  affairs  she  has  started  that  she  can  no 
longer  extricate  herself,  but  has  to  go  on  and 
on,  down,  down  into  the  abyss  she  has  created, 
and  the  crash,  the  climax,  comes  like  a  peal 
of  thunder.  All  the  evil  she  has  done  comes 
back  upon  her,  the  spirits  of  the  people  she 
has  harmed  crowd  around  her;  she  fights  off 
the  phantoms,  she  gropes  about  her  room,  talk- 
ing to  the  miserable  things  torturing  her ;  she 
reviles  herself  and  them.  She  begs  for  mercy. 

284 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

She  takes  a  knife  to  stab  herself  and  then 
she  stops  —  like  this."  Jane  was  in  the  center 
of  the  room  now,  her  eyes  glowing  with  emo- 
tion, her  voice  ringing  with  it.  She  made  as 
if  to  stab  herself  with  an  invisible  dagger,  an 
expression  of  horror  lining  her  face.  Her  voice 
rang  out  dramatically  true :  "  I  can't  do  it  — 
I  can't  do  it ! "  and  she  flung  away  the  dagger. 

She  held  the  position  a  second,  then  dropped 
it  quickly.  The  swift  snapping  off  of  the  at- 
titude gave  Gaston  the  effect  of  a  quick  cur- 
tain following  a  rapid  climax.  Her  sense  of 
the  technical  value  of  time  was  not  lost  upon 
him,  nothing  was  lost  upon  him;  he  might 
close  and  open  his  eyes  in  a  way  that  made 
one  think  of  a  sleepy  lion,  but  he  never  missed 
a  point. 

When  she  had  finished  she  was  a  little 
ashamed  of  her  enthusiasm,  half  apologized 
for  her  acting. 

"  I  could  n't  help  it  —  I  want  you  to  see  the 
possibilities." 

285 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  I  will  look  for  them,"  he  said,  and  his  dark 
eyes  sought  hers  intently.  "  What  are  you 
playing  now  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  a  small  part  in  '  The  Giggling 
Girl.'  It  was  a  bad  season  for  engagements." 

"  Down  the  street  here  at  the  Victorian  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  on?  " 

Jane  had  acquired  professional  self-assur- 
ance. 

"  About  three  years  —  mostly  in  stock  out 
west  —  I  'm  new  in  New  York." 

"  I  know,"  said  Gaston  simply.  He  meant 
that  he  was  very  well  informed  about  every 
theatrical  move  made  in  New  York. 

Jane  realized  again  the  importance  of  being 
with  Gaston.  She  had  almost  forgotten  the 
value  of  it  when  she  saw  how  kind  and  gentle 
he  was.  She  became  afraid  that  she  had 
prolonged  the  interview  too  long  and  moved 
at  once  to  bring  it  to  a  close,  although  he 
indicated  no  desire  to  end  it  himself.  He 

286 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

seemed  quite  comfortable,  quite  talkative,  in 
fact. 

"  Mr.  Abbott  will  know  that  I  am  glad  to 
have  met  you  —  I  shall  write  him." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  see  me,  Mr. 
Gaston.  I  have  always  admired  your  splendid 
productions.  This  has  been  a  rare  evening  in 
my  life.  You  will  read  the  play?" 

"  I  promise." 

"  When  may  I  hear  from  you?" 

"  I  will  send  you  word  in  a  few  days." 

He  opened  the  door,  allowed  her  to  pass  out 
first,  put  out  the  lights,  closed  the  door  again, 
and  followed  her  down  the  narrow  winding 
stairs  to  the  foyer  below.  The  theater  was 
dark,  the  box  office  was  closed,  and  only  a  little 
light  showed  the  way  across  the  room  to  the 
door  that  opened  on  the  street. 

Mr.  Wells  confronted  them.  He  seemed  to 
come  from  nowhere,  as  if  by  magic,  but  there 
he  was,  tall,  broad-shouldered,  ready  to  serve 
Gaston. 

287 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  We  have  kept  you  waiting  a  long  time," 
said  Jane  in  conciliating  tones,  but  Wells  smiled 
denial  of  any  fatigue,  and  his  voice,  when  ad- 
dressing Gaston,  was  gentle  and  low,  eminently 
faithful. 

"  I  told  Craig  you  wished  him  to  come  with 
us,"  he  said. 


288 


CHAPTER   XII 

Craig!  It  was  the  name  of  one  of  Gaston's 
leading  men,  a  man  whom  Jane  had  always 
been  curious  to  meet.  She  glanced  at  him 
intently  as  she  passed  him  on  the  stone  stoop 
beneath  the  portico  of  the  theater.  The  street- 
lamp  was  bright  enough  to  see  him  clearly. 
He  was  standing  easily  near  a  pillar  smoking 
a  cigarette.  There  are  ways  and  ways  of  stand- 
ing, and  ways  and  ways  of  smoking  cigarettes. 
His  way  was  graceful  and  nonchalant;  his 
attitude  was  receptive,  rather  than  assertive. 
He  held  his  cigarette  in  slim,  nervous  fingers 
and  placed  it  presently  between  sensuous  lips. 
His  eyes  returned  Jane's  intent  look  in  a  half- 
interested,  half -mockingly,  tired  way.  It  was 
the  attitude  of  a  man  who  knows  much  about 
life  and  wonders  if  he  can  find  anything  of 

289 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

new  interest  in  it.  As  Jane  reached  the  side- 
walk, Craig  joined  Gaston  and  Wells,  and  the 
three  walked  down  the  street  to  a  restaurant 
that  was  one  of  Gaston's  haunts. 

Jane  walked  along  in  the  opposite  direction. 
Reaching  Broadway,  she  celebrated  her  inter- 
view by  engaging  a  hansom  to  take  her  home. 
Her  brain  was  awhirl  with  great  hopes.  Gas- 
ton  ought  to  take  Bryce's  play,  because  there 
was  such  a  splendid  leading  part  in  it  for 
Craig  —  for  Craig's  queer,  fascinating  per- 
sonality ! 

It  was  after  midnight  when  Jane  arrived 
home  to  find  Bryce  still  writing.  He  pushed 
aside  his  work  to  help  her  off  with  her  things, 
to  pet  her,  as  he  often  did  when  she  came  in 
worn  out  with  rehearsal.  To-night  he  re- 
marked upon  her  vivacity  of  manner. 

"  I  was  beginning  to  worry ;  it  was  a  long 
rehearsal.  Who  brought  you  home?" 

"  I  took  a  hansom.    It  has  rested  me.     Oh, 

Bryce,  when  you  have  a  successful  play  how 

290 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

happy  we  shall  be !  I  'm  starved.  Let 's  have 
a  feast  and  just  pretend  we  have  arrived." 

Her  gayety  dispelled  for  one  short  night  the 
gloom  that  hung  over  them,  but  the  dawn 
brought  back  the  old  fears  again.  Jane  kept 
her  secret  to  herself  bravely,  but,  as  the  days 
passed  without  word  from  Gaston,  she  grew 
depressed.  At  length  she  took  to  the  telephone 
again,  called  up  the  theater  and  asked  for 
Gaston's  secretary. 

"Who  is  it,  please?"  came  the  inevitable 
question. 

"  Miss  South." 

"  Just  a  moment." 

Jane  waited,  only  to  hear  that  the  secre- 
tary was  not  in.  No  matter  what  hour  of  the 
day  she  called  up,  no  matter  how  many  times 
she  gave  her  name,  the  secretary  was  never 
in  to  Cecelia  South. 

Jane  kept  her  disappointment  in  check  and 
tried  to  smile  and  go  on  bravely  with  each 

day's  work.     But  the  trial  was  a  strain  on 

291 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

her  nerves.  She  could  not  sleep  at  night,  and 
she  often  woke  Bryce  as  she  stumbled  over 
a  chair  on  her  way  in  the  dark  to  the  window, 
where  she  sat  looking  down  into  the  silent 
little  yards  and  up  at  the  dark  houses  sil- 
houetted against  the  bright  city  sky,  listen- 
ing to  the  interminable  night  noises  of  New 
York. 

Had  Gaston  decided  not  to  see  her  again? 
Did  he  not  like  the  play?  Was  it  too  "  lit- 
erary," too  wordy,  perhaps  ?  She  recalled  that 
some  of  the  speeches  were  uncommonly  long. 
It  certainly  did  not  deal  with  any  big  thought 
of  the  hour.  Was  the  construction  bad  ?  Per- 
haps it  lacked  dramatic  action,  perhaps  the 
characters  were  not  clearly,  strongly  drawn. 
No  doubt  it  was  a  worthless  play. 

Bryce  worried  about  her  pallor  and  her  in- 
creasing fatigue  and  begged  her  to  stop  act- 
ing. But  she  felt  that  if  she  did  not  keep 
her  mind  occupied  she  would  go  mad  with 
anxiety,  and  so  she  forced  herself  to  continue 

292 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

the  routine.  A  whole  month  passed,  and  then 
she  wrote  another  letter  to  Gaston.  When 
no  answer  came  she  telephoned,  after  three 
days,  to  the  secretary. 

"  Who  is  it,  please?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  Miss  Cecelia  South  —  it  is  most  impor- 
tant." Jane  was  desperate. 

"  Hold  the  wire." 

A  moment,  and  a  man's  voice  answered. 

"This  is  Mr.  Walker,  Miss  South."  The 
secretary  spoke  pleasantly.  "  Mr.  Gaston 
asked  me  to  tell  you  that  he  will  be  happy 
to  see  you  at  ten  forty-five  o'clock  to-morrow 
evening  at  the  theater." 

"  I  shall  be  there,"  said  Jarre  curtly.  She 
was  positive  now  that  the  secretary  was  never 
in  until  he  had  word  from  Gaston. 

Jane  went  alone  again,  desperately  unhappy, 
expecting  a  final  dismissal.  Again  Wells  met 
her  at  the  door,  again  she  was  ushered  up 
the  little  stairs  behind  the  gate,  and  again  she 
waited  in  the  little  room. 

293 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

She  expected  Gaston  to  come  in  as  he  had 
done  at  their  first  interview,  but  this  time 
Wells  returned  to  say  that  Gaston  preferred 
to  speak  to  Miss  South  in  his  private  study. 

Jane  followed  Wells  down  the  stairs,  out  to 
the  street,  and  through  the  cool  quiet  night 
to  a  passageway  and  an  elevator  that  took 
them  up  to  Gaston's  sanctuary.  Jane  was 
puzzled  by  the  arrangement  of  the  small  rooms 
they  passed  through,  and  made  rather  nervous 
by  the  mysteriousness  of  everything.  How- 
ever, she  calmed  herself  with  the  thought  that 
one  of  the  mildest  men  in  the  world  was  wait- 
ing to  receive  her. 

The  room  in  which  he  sat  was  two  stories 
high.  Huge  stained-glass  windows  draped  in 
crimson  velvet  took  up  one  wall,  a  mammoth 
fireplace  of  ancient  tiling  part  of  another,  and 
a  winding  wooden  staircase  and  picturesque 
balcony  the  other  two.  There  were  quaint 
carved  chairs  about,  and  queer  curios  and 
trophies  and  works  of  art  and  books,  and  two 

294 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

writing-tables  covered  with  papers  —  all  in  the 
soft  glow  of  yellow  and  rose  glassed  lights, 
which  kept  the  outlines  of  the  furnishings 
indistinct. 

In  the  midst  of  this  rich,  quiet  room  sat 
Gaston,  an  amber  light  mellowing  his  hand- 
some face  and  his  oriental  eyes. 

Wells  waited  until  the  greetings  were  fin- 
ished before  he  withdrew.  Then  Jane  found 
herself  alone  opposite  the  wizard  and  she 
trembled  for  his  verdict,  not  daring  to  let  a 
question  pass  her  lips,  so  low  was  her  courage. 

Yet  he  was  so  kind  and  fatherly  she  wanted 
to  take  him  by  the  hand  and  beg  him  to  ac- 
cept the  play.  Of  course  he  did  not  want  it, 
else  he  would  have  said  at  once  that  he  did. 
Still,  she  waited  for  his  word. 

"  You  have  written  a  great  play,"  he  said. 

Jane  wilted  —  everything  in  her  drooped. 
She  sank  into  her  chair;  she  seemed  to  grow 
smaller;  she  felt  herself  shriveling  into  a  piti- 
ful little  heap.  She  was  weak  with  joy.  Gas- 

295 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

ton  had  said  it  was  a  great  play.  Had  he 
condemned  it,  she  would  have  resented  his 
criticism  and  fought  for  its  merits.  His  praise 
came  almost  as  a  blow.  It  seemed  impossible. 
He  must  be  mistaken.  His  judgment  must  be 
bad.  He  must  be  ill,  not  capable  of  discrimi- 
nation. No!  He  was  well,  ten  times  stronger 
looking  than  the  last  time  she  had  seen  him. 
His  eyes  were  brighter,  his  words  came 
sharply. 

"Is  it  really  good?" 

"Splendid!" 

'  Tell  me  the  truth  —  I  came  for  the  truth 
—  what  does  the  play  lack?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  But  its  construction  is  unusual." 

"  It  is  clever." 

"  Is  n't  the  dialogue  wordy?  " 

"  No ;  very  much  in  keeping  with  the  char- 
acters. The  dialogue  is  excellent,  language 
good,  characterizations  excellent,  phrasing 
beautiful." 

296 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

"  There  must  be  something  wrong  —  don't 
spare  me  —  I  beg  for  the  truth  —  " 

Gaston  gave  her  a  penetrating,  astonished 
look.  '  You  don't  seem  to  realize,"  he  said, 
"  how  big  a  play  you  have  written.  The  first 
act  is  so  simple,  so  direct,  so  like  the  Greek 

—  all  suppression  and  then  at  last  expression. 
There  is  a  crash ;  like  a  cannon-ball  it  explodes 

—  it   is    tremendous  —  a   vital,   human   play ! 
Lines   are  good,   similes  easy  —  you  have  a 
wonderful  talent." 

"  It  is  too  much,"  protested  Jane  falter- 
ingly.  '''  I  can't  stand  it.  Tell  me  there  is 
something  wrong  with  it." 

The  blood  flamed  into  Gaston's  face.  All 
of  a  sudden  he  seemed  to  tower  in  his  chair. 
His  white  hair  seemed  to  stand  out  bushier 
from  his  head,  his  eyes  burned.  There  was 
the  anger  of  the  master  in  his  voice,  the  mas- 
ter's irritation  at  contradiction. 

"  No,  no !    I  would  not  tell  you  these  things 

if  I  did  not  mean  them!    There  would  be  no 

297 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

object,  no  reason  for  that.  I  am  too  busy. 
When  I  saw  at  the  end  of  one  act  there,  two 
men  say  '  good  night '  and  then  a  woman  talk- 
ing all  alone,  I  thought  how  can  any  one  with 
intelligence  be  so  stupid  and  so  dull  as  to 
write  a  soliloquy.  I  was  disgusted.  Then  I 
read  on,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  no  soliloquy,  that 
you  had  a  new  method  —  that  was  clever  — 
smart.  Sometimes  I  can  let  a  thing  pass  if  I 
see  one  is  discouraged.  I  could  not  hurt  a  fly, 
but  I  can  do  almost  anything  for  results.  They 
say  cruel  things  about  me,  but  I  have  had  my 
ideals  —  and  keep  my  promises.  We  will  put 
this  play  aside  for  the  Fall.'* 

"A  contract?" 

"  I  will  send  you  one." 

Jane  wanted  to  throw  her  arms  about  him, 
he  had  given  her  so  much  happiness.  Then 
she  felt  a  sudden  fear  that  he  would  take  issue 
at  the  story  she  had  told  him. 

"  Mr.  Gaston,"  she  said  reluctantly,  "I  — 
I  did  not  write  that  play.  I  —  said  I  did  be- 

298 


THE   ROAD    TO    ROME 

cause  I  came  to  you  without  my  husband's 
knowledge.  My  husband  wrote  that  play." 

Gaston's  lips  curved  slightly  in  a  very  sweet 
way  and  his  eyes  were  shining  softly  as  he 
looked  at  Jane. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  winningly,  "  your  husband 
is  Bryce  Gordon  —  he  has  just  had  a  failure 
with  the  '  Price  of  Power.'  I  watched  all  that ; 
but  there  was  subtlety  even  in  that  play  that 
was  not  brought  out  in  the  acting.  I  could 
have  made  it  go.  Some  day  when  it  has  been 
forgotten  we  shall  rewrite  the  '  Price  of 
Power.'  In  the  meantime  we  will  shelve  it 
and  let  it  await  its  opportunity.  A  play  eats 
no  oats.  You  were  a  very  bad  actress  in  the 
'  Price  of  Power.'  You  deserved  to  fail.  But 
you  were  misplaced  —  you  should  have  been 
cast  for  the  lead.  I  will  give  you  the  part  of 
the  Fire  Opal  and  have  Craig  play  the  oppo- 
site. It  will  go." 

Jane  never  remembered  how  she  got  out, 

except  that  Wells  was  at  the  elevator  ready 

299 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

to  serve  Gaston  —  Wells,  who  sprang  up  mys- 
teriously whenever  and  wherever  Gaston  had 
need  of  him.  Craig  was  standing  on  the 
stoop,  smoking,  exactly  as  he  had  been  after 
her  first  interview.  Craig  recognized  her  — 
almost  smiled. 

"  He  knows  who  I  am,"  thought  Jane,  and 
she  fled  from  Gaston's  Theater  in  joy  so  deep 
it  was  almost  pain.  She  went  home  to  Bryce, 
threw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  told  him. 

Bryce  was  so  happy,  they  were  both  so 
happy,  that  they  sat  up  all  night  discussing 
the  great  good  fortune  and  making  plans. 
Bryce's  talent  for  writing  was  temporarily 
paralyzed  with  joy.  He  attempted  a  letter, 
but  its  phrasing  was  telegraphic  and  childish. 
He  laughingly  begged  Jane  to  write  it  for 
him,  while  he  kept  his  arms  about  her  and 
kissed  her  hair. 


300 


CHAPTER   XIII 

Advance  royalties  did  not  overcrowd  the 
coffers  of  Gordon  &  Co.,  but  two  good  con- 
tracts lay  signed  in  a  safety  deposit  box  rented 
especially  in  their  honor,  and  Bryce,  after  bal- 
ancing his  bank-book  and  figuring  out  what 
checks  were  due  from  the  magazines,  decreed 
that  Jane  needed  a  month  in  the  country. 

Like  two  children  they  packed  their  trunks, 
gave  up  their  shabby  little  suite,  paid  their  bills, 
and  departed  hand  in  hand  for  a  farmhouse 
among  the  Catskills,  where  Bryce  was  a  much 
loved  guest,  and  Jane  was  welcomed,  first  for 
his  sake  and  then  for  her  own,  by  the  good- 
hearted  farmer  and  his  rosy-cheeked  wife. 
Bryce  was  happy  in  the  thought  of  being  able 
to  give  Jane  her  honeymoon  at  last.  As  for 
her,  it  was  her  first  introduction  to  the  real 

country,  and  she  thought  of  Mrs.  Van  Muel- 

301 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

ler's  conventional  country  home  with  a  pity- 
ing smile.  If  she  could  have  seen  Walter 
Scribner  wooing  Leslie  there,  she  would  have 
felt  a  throb  of  pain  as  well.  But  Leslie  was 
highly  flattered,  and  since  Jane  had  failed  to 
annex  him  to  the  family  considered  it  her 
duty  to  do  so.  The  social  world  envied,  praised 
and  congratulated.  The  Carrington-Scribner 
alliance  was  accomplished  at  last,  and  Leslie 
was  choosing  her  bridesmaids  when  Jane  and 
Bryce  were  on  their  way  back  to  New  York. 

September  was  still  hot  in  the  canyon  of 
Broadway  when  the  theatrical  birds  began  to 
flock  to  town  again.  Stars  returned  from 
Europe,  old  stagers  dropped  into  the  man- 
agers' offices  to  exchange  gossip,  hopeful  be- 
ginners arrived  in  dowdy  new  clothes  and 
shiny  shoes,  playwrights  and  costumers  held 
long  consultations  and  worked  overtime.  So- 
cially, New  York  was  still  scattered  at  resorts 
and  country  homes.  The  great  public  drifted 
through  Luna  and  Dreamland.  But  behind 

302 


THE   ROAD    TO    ROME 

the  scenes  the  players  labored  on  the  endless 
work  of  preparation  for  the  night  when  lights 
are  on  and  new  shows  come  up  to  the  public's 
judgment  bar  to  succeed  or  fail. 

With  the  first  red  leaf,  Jane  and  Bryce  had 
also  returned,  strong,  sun-browned,  eager  to 
throw  themselves  into  their  work.  Gaston  had 
taken  much  trouble  to  choose  the  cast  of  ten, 
so  painstaking  was  he,  so  determined  that  every 
actor  and  actress  should  be  physically  as  well 
as  mentally  able  to  portray  the  character  al- 
lotted. He  left  the  preliminary  readings  of 
the  play  to  the  management  of  Sam  Greene, 
and  did  not  come  to  the  front  himself  until 
the  lines  had  been  memorized. 

Jane  thought  she  had  learned  what  rehears- 
ing meant,  but  her  eyes  were  opened  under 
the  Gaston  management.  Never  before  had 
she  worked  so  enthusiastically  or  with  such 
joy  and  comfort.  In  other  productions  she 
had  heard  cursing,  she  had  had  to  ignore  in- 
sults, stifle  her  resentment,  and  bow  to  the 

3°3 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

common;  had  learned  along  with  the  others 
to  endure  coarseness  as  something  unavoid- 
able. But  in  the  Gaston  playhouse  there 
reigned  good  fellowship  in  endeavor,  sacrifice 
of  self  to  the  artistic  whole,  and,  above  all, 
a  courtesy  that  Jane  had  never  seen  surpassed 
in  a  drawing-room.  There  was  an  atmosphere 
of  refinement  everywhere.  In  the  warmth  of 
it  the  artistic  nature  expanded  like  a  flower 
in  the  sun.  Gaston  got  the  very  best  out  of 
every  person  he  wrorked  with;  he  was  an  in- 
spiration in  himself;  here  in  the  secret  re- 
hearsals at  his  playhouse  he  was  the  much- 
loved  master  surrounded  by  those  devoted  to 
him.  Here  was  his  castle  where  he  worked 
out  his  ideals  and  fashioned  his  dreams  into 
form,  and  they  all  helped  him  gladly,  faith- 
fully, lovingly. 

Wells,  Greene  and  Carpen  guarded  the 
theater.  They  were  always  going  to  and  fro, 
running  errands,  springing  up  mysteriously 
when  an  outsider  asked  admittance.  Gus,  the 

3°4 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

doorkeeper,  guarded  the  stage  entrance ;  Carpen 
watched  Gaston's  health,  from  time  to  time 
bringing  him  milk.  Wells,  Greene  and  Carpen 
were  the  keepers  of  the  castle.  The  opening 
night  was  the  battle  day,  the  stage  the  battle- 
field, the  actors  were  the  soldiers,  the  play- 
wright was  —  well,  the  playwright  was  there 
in  case  the  chief  might  care  to  ask  his  advice. 
That  was  about  the  proportion  of  influence 
each  faction  held;  and  yet  Bryce  was  made 
to  understand  that,  no  matter  how  much  Gas- 
ton  might  blue-pencil,  how  much  he  might  re- 
vise, how  much  he  might  argue,  he,  Bryce, 
was  still  the  playwright,  the  original  creator. 
That  was  part  of  the  genius  of  Gaston.  He 
was  no  brutal  iconoclast,  and  although  he  could 
condemn  the  bad,  he  remembered  to  praise  the 
good;  and  he  always  had  reverence  for  the 
ideals  of  another. 

It  was  Gaston  who  taught  Bryce  what  a 
power  the  dramatist  is,  and  Bryce  had  ample 
opportunity  to  appreciate  his  own  importance, 

305 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

because  he  saw  all  the  rehearsals  from  the 
front.  He  witnessed  days  of  scenery  re- 
hearsals, days  when  the  actors  did  not  appear 
at  all,  when  Jane  was  nothing,  when  the  scene- 
shifters,  scene  painter  and  property  men  were 
the  pawns  of  the  hour,  bringing  into  satisfac- 
tory form  stage  sets  which  Bryce  had  con- 
ceived in  his  brain.  There  were  windows  and 
doors  and  couches  and  certain  kinds  of  pic- 
tures he  had  written  about,  a  sewing-table,  a 
writing-desk  with  a  particular  kind  of  lock, 
a  basket  of  flowers,  chairs  fashioned  in  a  cer- 
tain period,  a  fountain  that  played,  trees  that 
swayed,  a  view  of  distant  hills.  All  these 
things  and  a  hundred  more  had  to  be  made, 
studied  and  placed.  It  took  weeks  of  patient 
labor,  for  Gaston  was  a  genius  in  details. 
Nothing  escaped  him,  not  even  the  fact  that 
the  wall  paper  showed  no  sign  where  a  pic- 
ture had  been  hung  before  it  was  taken  to 
a  pawn  shop.  Orders  were  at  once  given  to 

make  an  unfaded  spot  with  a  rim  of  dirt  on 

306 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

the  wall  to  show  that  the  picture  had  been 
there. 

Then  Bryce  had  asked  for  twilight  in  a  cer- 
tain scene.  It  was  so  easy  to  write  twilight; 
it  was  so  difficult  to  produce  it.  When  he 
learned  how  difficult,  Bryce  marveled  at  the 
power  of  the  pen,  that  one  written  word  could 
command  so  many  men  and  so  much  of  their 
serious  attention  and  time.  Twilight  was  a 
big  word  for  Gaston.  He  rehearsed  it  a  very 
long  time.  He  sat  in  the  dark  auditorium 
next  to  Bryce,  and  from  there  gave  his  direc- 
tions in  low,  courteous  tones;  the  electricians 
on  the  stage  and  up  in  the  wings  accepted  his 
orders  with  an  obedience  and  attention  that 
almost  amused  Bryce,  who  had  never  realized 
how  serious  a  matter  twilight  could  be.  After 
many  hours  of  toil  he  was  quite  satisfied  with 
the  shadows  that  crept  slowly  on  and  along 
the  pillars  of  the  old  abbey  until  all  vanished 
under  dusk.  He  was  quite  ready  to  go  on  to 
something  else,  but  not  so  Gaston;  for  him 

307 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

the  shadows  were  still  too  sudden,  too  dark 
on  that  column,  too  light  on  this.  Then  he 
must  work  out  his  new  idea  of  a  symbol  in 
the  play.  He  would  have  the  twilight  creep 
over  a  statue  of  the  Virgin,  lighting  her  face 
and  then  gently  dulling  it.  That  was  a  pre- 
cious idea,  thought  Bryce,  watching  with  bated 
breath  the  exquisite  coloring  as  it  grew  under 
Gaston's  directions.  The  electricians  had  diffi- 
culties —  lights  had  to  be  chosen  with  mathe- 
matical exactness ;  they  had  to  make  their  cal- 
culations and  diagrams.  It  took  a  morning, 
that  twilight  on  the  Virgin,  but  when  perfec- 
tion had  been  reached,  Gaston  was  as  delighted 
as  an  artist  who  has  completed  a  masterpiece. 
Bryce  had  written  about  costumes,  too,  and 
along  with  them  there  was  make-up  to  be  con- 
sidered; and  so  on  the  days  allotted  to  the 
costume  rehearsals  Madame  Marguerite  came 
to  the  theater  to  view  her  work  in  the  glare 
of  the  footlights.  Gus  let  her  pass  through 
the  stage  door ;  Wells  led  her  across  the  stage 

308 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

to  the  bridge;  Greene  met  her  below  it  and 
extended  his  hand  to  help  her  down,  for  the 
glare  of  the  footlights  blinded  those  on  the 
stage  to  the  lay  of  the  land  in  the  black  audi- 
torium. Through  the  darkness  Madame  could 
distinguish  the  white  hair  and  collar  of  Gas- 
ton.  She  nodded  a  greeting  and  chose  a  seat 
near  him.  One  by  one  the  actors  appeared 
on  the  stage  in  the  order  in  which  they  hap- 
pened to  be  ready  for  inspection,  walking  down 
center.  Craig  came  first,  raising  an  arm  to 
shade  his  eyes  from  the  footlights,  and  looked 
above  it  into  the  dark  auditorium,  searching 
for  Gaston. 

"  How  's  this,  Mr.  Gaston?  "  he  asked,  show- 
ing back,  front  and  side  view  of  his  light-gray 
suit.  He  walked  up  stage,  stood  with  folded 
arms  gazing  off  left,  swung  on  his  heels,  re- 
turned, seated  himself  in  a  graceful  pose  on 
a  couch,  remained  a  second,  rose,  showed  sur- 
prise, astonishment,  chagrin,  anger,  determi- 
nation. Gaston  watched  the  pantomime  with 

309 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

something  akin  to  indifference  and  dismissed 
Craig  with  a  slight  nod  of  approval. 

"  Gray  socks,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  yes,  certainly." 

Craig  had  been  with  Gaston  so  long  he  knew 
what  was  required  of  him  and  he  never  failed. 
He  was  not  a  great  actor  —  sometimes  not 
even  a  good  actor  —  but  he  made  a  good  ap- 
pearance and  was  reliable.  Gaston  knew  how 
much  he  could  expect  and  asked  for  no  more. 
Craig  had  a  personality  that  was  a  drawing- 
card. 

Others  were  mere  novices  in  the  business 
of  review.  They  had  to  be  told  how  to  walk 
about  and  how  to  cull  from  their  parts  action 
that  would  give  some  clew  as  to  the  suitability 
of  their  make-up.  One  well-meaning  but  com- 
mon little  woman  had  to  be  taught  how  to 
walk  with  a  long  train.  It  was  Jane  who  was 
selected  to  teach  her,  for  there  hovered  always 
about  Jane  the  manner  of  drawing-rooms. 

She  herself  found  the  examination  very  try- 
310 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

ing.  The  auditorium  was  like  a  huge  cavern 
before  her,  and  the  footlights  full  on  her  face 
and  figure  were  so  glaring  that  she  felt  any 
faults  in  her  make-up  would  fairly  scream. 
Greene  suggested  that  she  change  her  gown 
between  the  third  and  fourth  acts.  Gaston 
answered  that  no  woman  who  had  gone 
through  the  climax  of  the  third  act  would 
change  her  gown  after  it.  Jane  said  she 
thought  a  woman  might  change  her  gown 
mechanically,  merely  yielding  sub-consciously 
to  habit.  Wells  was  undecided.  The  impor- 
tant question  was  put  to  the  playwright,  but 
the  playwright  failed  them  in  this  weighty 
problem.  He  said  that  no  one  could  ever  tell 
what  a  woman  would  do.  It  was  left  to  Gas- 
ton  to  take  the  burden  of  responsibility. 

"  Madame,  will  you  make  another  gown,  so 
that  it  will  be  ready  if  we  decide  to  use  it?  " 

Jane  interposed.  "  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Gaston, 
but  if  you  please,  I  can't  possibly  afford  an- 
other gown.  I  have  three  already,  sir." 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  No  matter,"  came  Gaston's  quick  response ; 
"  I  will  pay  for  the  gown.  It  is  the  result 
we  consider,  not  expense.  Make  another  one, 
Madame." 

Yes,  Gaston  was  very  liberal,  and  the  play- 
wright continued  to  learn  how  much  trouble 
his  pen  had  caused.  He  had  written  "  slow 
curtain  "  after  the  first  act.  The  other  cur- 
tains were  left  to  the  decision  of  the  manager, 
who  set  aside  one  day  to  rehearse  them.  He 
made  the  actors  go  over  their  final  lines  in- 
numerable times,  to  determine  whether  the  act 
lost  or  gained  by  a  slow  or  a  swift  curtain, 
or  would  be  improved  by  some  tempo  between. 
Twenty  times  the  men  high  in  the  wings  raised 
and  lowered  the  heavy  brown  velvet  screen. 
Twenty  times  it  fell  too  swiftly  or  too  slowly, 
too  jerkily  or  too  loudly;  twenty  times  it  was 
lifted  again  before  Gaston  was  satisfied. 
When  the  day  was  over  and  the  men  had  their 
cues  for  each  curtain  and  the  record  of  its 

tempo,  Bryce  realized  how  an  entire  scene,  no 

312 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

matter  how  beautifully  it  is  written,  can  be 
spoiled  by  an  ending  that  is  inharmonious, 
and  he  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  a 
manager  is  a  very  important  person. 

Scenery,  setting,  costume,  make-up,  curtain, 
lighting,  all  important  adjuncts  to  the  final 
production,  had  their  rehearsals  separately, 
just  as  the  actors  did.  Jane  came  in  for  a 
big  share  of  training.  It  was  not  unusual  for 
Gaston  to  take  some  unknown  actress  and  give 
her  a  leading  part,  if  her  type  suited.  It  was 
a  usual  thing  with  him  to  make  a  success  of 
her,  for  they  said  of  him  that  he  could  make 
a  stick  walk.  Now  Jane  was  no  stick  to  begin 
with,  and  she  was  very  serious;  also  she  was 
continually  inspired  by  Gaston's  ideas,  his 
magnetic  presence,  his  genius,  his  beautiful 
playhouse,  his  delightful  atmosphere,  the  in- 
telligent company.  And  so  she  was  kept  on 
her  mettle,  and  yet  there  was  something 
lacking. 

"  I  could  not  hurt  a  fly,  and  yet  I  can  do 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

anything  for  results,"  Gaston  had  told  her  once, 
and  for  a  long  time  Jane  received  the  kind 
consideration  offered  to  the  fly.  But  as  the 
rehearsals  progressed  and  the  company  grad- 
ually began  to  "  play  up  "  in  vigor  and  emo- 
tion, the  time  came  for  Gaston  to  seek  results, 
and  he  was  not  satisfied  with  those  that  Jane 
offered  him.  There  was  a  scene  in  the  play 
where  she  had  to  make  a  passionate  appeal 
to  her  lover  not  to  desert  her.  Technically 
she  played  it  well.  Her  voice  rose  and  fell 
as  Gaston  had  demanded,  her  gestures  were 
not  strained,  there  was  vitality  in  the  interpre- 
tation, and  yet  —  there  was  something  lacking. 

"  It  does  n't  get  over,"  cried  Gaston,  raising 
his  usually  low-pitched  voice,  and  coming  down 
the  aisle  of  the  auditorium  with  unusual  speed. 
He  climbed  the  bridge  with  surprising  alert- 
ness, and  confronted  Jane  on  the  stage. 

"  It  does  n't  get  over  —  it 's  all  in  your  mind 
—  get  it  down  —  down  —  there." 

He  pointed  to  her  heart,  took  her  by  the 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

arm  and,  holding-  her  with  a  certain  rough 
firmness,  crossed  the  stage  with  her  to  the 
place  where  the  scene  began  and  made  her  go 
through  it  again.  He  kept  her  arm  all  the 
time,  now  relaxing  his  hold,  now  hurting  her 
in  a  grip  that  tried  to  push  her  into  the  pas- 
sion of  the  Fire  Opal  she  was  to  portray. 

The  rest  of  the  company  stood  watching, 
aware  that  no  one  could  afford  to  miss  a  les- 
son in  acting  by  Gaston.  Wells,  who  was  going 
on  an  errand,  stopped  to  watch.  Craig  lounged 
up  stage  waiting  for  his  cues,  as  he  was  in 
the  scene.  In  the  orchestra  seats  Greene  and 
Carpen  watched,  and  Gordon  suffered,  seeing 
what  to  him  seemed  Jane's  humiliation.  While 
his  practical  self  told  him  it  was  part  of  the 
business,  his  sensitive  nature  keenly  felt  the 
ignominy.  He  chafed  at  his  own  powerless- 
ness  to  aid  her;  he  wished  he  had  not  written 
the  scene;  he  wished  Gaston  had  not  re-writ- 
ten it  to  make  it  so  much  more  passionate  than 
it  was  at  first. 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  love  ?  "  asked  Gas- 
ton  in  despair. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Gaston,"  answered  Jane  indig- 
nantly, "  I  am  married." 

The  answer  brought  a  queer,  puzzled  look 
into  Gaston's  angry  eyes,  and  Craig  suddenly 
raised  his  indolent  lids  to  glance  at  Jane.  Sur- 
prise and  interest  were  in  the  lift  of  his  brows, 
amusement  at  the  corners  of  his  lips. 

"  Have  you  never  lost  a  lover  ?  "  asked  Gas- 
ton  shortly.  "  Don't  you  know  how  it  feels ; 
can't  you  imagine  ?  Feel  it  —  feel  it  —  let 
yourself  go  —  " 

"  I  am  letting  myself  go." 

"  More  than  that  —  more !  Your  emotion 
must  be  like  a  big  wave  of  the  sea,  gaining 
force  and  more  force,  until  finally,  overbur- 
dened with  it,  it  crashes  on  the  beach  like  that 
—  then  just  before  the  curtain,  the  hush  as 
of  dead  souls." 

Just  what  connection  there  was  between  a 

wave  and  dead  souls  and  the  play  no  one  ever 

316 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

knew,  but  it  made  one  understand  the  thing 
for  which  Gaston  was  working. 

As  he  spared  nothing  for  results,  the  com- 
pany began  to  be  embarrassed  at  the  publicity 
of  the  lesson.  Gordon  kept  his  seat  only  by 
force  of  will,  daring  neither  to  interfere  nor 
go  out. 

"Madame,  have  you  never  had  a  lover?" 
cried  Gaston  in  the  heat  of  his  excitement. 
Craig  looked  at  Jane  intently,  wondering  what 
she  would  answer.  Gaston  expected  no  re- 
sponse and  was  continuing  his  exhortation 
when  Jane  changed  it  all  by  bursting  into 
tears. 

In  a  second  Gaston  was  the  gentle  manager 
again.  With  the  tenderness  of  a  woman  he 
slipped  his  hand  under  her  elbow  and  led  her 
to  a  chair. 

"All  right,  all  right,"  he  said  kindly;  "it 
was  a  good  scene  —  it  will  be  better  to-morrow 
—  you  are  getting  it." 

With  that  he  pulled  a  silver  quarter  from 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

his  pocket  and  slipped  it  into  the  palm  of  her 
hand. 

Gaston  always  had  a  pocketful  of  quarters, 
as  rewards  for  work  well  done.  Invariably 
they  were  accepted  with  a  smile  and  an  ap- 
preciative, "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Gaston."  A  sil- 
ver quarter  had  often  bridged  a  moment  of 
tension;  it  never  failed  to  turn  the  tide,  and 
to-day  was  no  exception. 

Jane  had  to  smile,  and  the  smile  struggling 
through  her  tears  produced  a  little  hysterical 
laugh. 

'  Thank  you,  Mr.  Gaston ;  you  are  very 
kind." 

"  That 's  enough  of  that  for  to-day/'  he 
said,  turning  to  Greene.  "  Put  on  the  fourth 
act!" 

As  she  sat  resting  in  the  wings,  Craig  ap- 
proached her  listlessly. 

'  The  Governor  won't  give  up  till  he  gets 

what     he     wants,"     he     remarked     casually. 

'  You  '11  have  to  go  through  the  same  thing 


THE   ROAD    TO    ROME 

day  after  day  till  he  's  satisfied.  When  you 
plead  with  me  there,  get  some  fire  into  your 
eyes,  something  of  the  real  stuff,  you  know." 

"  I  thought  I  did." 

"  It 's  not  enough." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  do  much  more." 

"  Perhaps  you  've  never  cared  a  lot  about 
some  fellow  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course  I  have." 

"If  you  have  n't  —  I  wonder  why  they 
failed  to  make  you  care.  If  I  cared  a  lot 
about  a  woman,  I  'd  see  that  she  returned 
it.  I  'd  make  her  like  me." 

Craig's  tone  was  not  personal.  Jane  could 
not  resent  the  remark  without  seeming  fool- 
ish, and  yet  if  he  had  not  meant  her,  what 
was  the  point  of  it? 

She  looked  at  Craig  more  sharply,  her  curi- 
osity aroused. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  a  man  of  such 
determination." 

"Determination?     Not  at  all.     A  woman 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

likes  a  man  because  he  likes  her.  A  man  can 
win  any  woman  he  wants  if  he  persists  long 
enough." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  have  seen  rejected  men." 
"  Certainly ;    the  man  who  won  did  so  by 
virtue  of  his  greater  magnetism,  that 's  all." 
"  That 's  a  strange  philosophy." 
"  Oh,  it 's  true  enough.     Have  n't  you  seen 
a  woman  throw  over  a  splendid,  big,  hand- 
some, straight  sort  of  a  fellow  for  a  rake?" 
"  Ye-es  —  " 

'  There  you  have  it ;    the  rake,  having  no 
scruples,  stopped  at  nothing  until  he  had  won." 
'  That  puts  love  on  a  very  low  basis." 
"Love!"     Craig  laughed.     "  It 's  the  most 
wonderful  thing  in  the  world  —  it 's  the  only 
thing  that  really  counts.     When  I  am  not  in 
love  I  am  the  most  miserable  creature  in  the 
world!     How  can  we  help  loving  you  beauti- 
ful women?    Why  should  we  not  demand  that 
you  love  us  in  return?" 

Jane  got  up,  not  because  she  was  rested, 
320 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

but  because  she  could  find  no  ready  answer. 
She  had  a  sense  of  embarrassment  and  a  de- 
sire to  avoid  his  brown  eyes.  Somehow  his 
silence  seemed  to  demand  an  answer  from  her. 
She  could  think  of  no  escape  except  by  way 
of  the  rehearsal,  and  she  rose. 

"  I  have  to  go  —  it 's  getting  near  my  cue." 
He  remained  standing  where  she  had  left 
him,  his  attitude,  as  always,  nonchalant. 


321 


CHAPTER   XIV 

"The  Fire  Opal!" 

It  blazed  at  last  in  flashing  electric  letters 
above  the  low,  graceful  portico  of  the  Gaston 
Theater.  The  last  touch  had  been  given  to 
the  costumes,  the  last  rehearsal  was  over,  the 
scenery  and  lighting  had  been  tested  for  the 
last  time,  the  playwright  had  put  his  last  pen- 
ciled correction  into  the  prompt-book.  Gas- 
ton,  himself,  had  no  more  to  do,  but  must  take 
his  hands  off  the  play  and  be  content  with  a 
God-speed.  It  was  the  hour  when  the  actor's 
real  work  began,  the  hour  when  the  play  must 
face  the  public,  must  stand  or  fall. 

Half-past  eight.  The  ushers  were  slamming 
down  the  seats,  and  passing  a  flutter  of  pro- 
grams. Women  with  bare  shoulders  and  rus- 
tling skirts  were  filling  the  aisles  and  crowding 

322 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

the  foyer,  men  in  evening  clothes  struck  sharp 
notes  of  black  and  white  amid  the  delicate 
dresses.  The  air  was  exotic  with  the  odor  of 
perfumes  and  cigarettes,  the  lights  glittered 
like  strings  of  topazes.  It  was  a  Gaston  first- 
night,  a  night  of  expectancy,  a  night  when 
blase  theater-goers  pricked  up  their  ears  and 
waited  for  the  thrill  he  always  gave  them,  a 
night  of  charm,  of  magic,  of  eagerly  awaited 
surprise. 

The  synopsis  in  the  program  was  brief, 
tantalizing.  The  name  of  the  playwright 
meant  little.  "  Bryce  Gordon?"  said  the 
critics.  '''  Bryce  Gordon?  H'm  —  didn't  he 
have  something  to  do  with  '  The  Price  of 
Power '  ?  Funny  Gaston  should  take  him  up. 
Still,  Gaston  generally  knows  what  he  's  about." 
They  settled  back  in  their  seats  to  see  what 
should  befall. 

A  distinguished  looking  woman  entered  one 
of  the  boxes,  followed  by  a  young  girl  and 
two  men. 

323 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

'''  We  never  thought  we  should  see  you  again, 
Miss  Van  Mueller,"  one  was  saying.  '  We 
expected  you  and  Jane  Carrington  to  marry 
noblemen." 

'  Well,  you  see  I  tried  to,  but  mother  and  I 
could  never  agree,  so  we  compromised  by  com- 
ing back." 

"  And  giving  the  rest  of  us  a  chance.  Is  n't 
it  queer  we  should  be  coming  to  see  Jane  this 
way?" 

Mrs.  Van  Mueller,  who  had  been  leveling 
her  jeweled  lorgnette  at  the  audience,  suddenly 
joined  the  conversation. 

"  I  have  decided  that  every  girl  must  work 
out  her  own  salvation.  There  was  a  time 
when  I  disapproved  of  Jane's  ambitions.  I 
had  other  plans  for  her,  but  after  all  I  may 
have  been  wrong.  Of  course  we  did  not  real- 
ize she  had  such  real  talent." 

"  Mother,  don't  you  think  we  might  send 
in  a  note  to  Jane,  asking  if  she  will  visit  us 
in  our  box  during  one  of  the  intermissions  ?  " 

324 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

Margaret  was  enthusiastic.  "  I  'd  so  love  to 
talk  to  her  again." 

"  I  have  sent  her  a  bouquet.  It  did  n't  occur 
to  me  that  we  might  meet  her." 

"  Oh,  we  must !  .  .  .  Harold,  have  you  a 
pencil  ?  " 

Harold  produced  a  pencil,  but  as  no  one  in 
the  box  had  paper  to  offer  Margaret  took 
her  handkerchief,  a  small  square  with  a  wide 
border  of  duchess  lace,  and  scribbled  a  few 
lines  upon  it.  Then  she  gave  it  to  an  usher 
for  delivery  and  waited  with  all  the  eager- 
ness of  a  school-girl  for  the  leading  woman's 
reply. 

Behind  the  rich  and  heavy  folds  of  the 
brown  velvet  curtain  there  was  excitement, 
too.  The  stage  was  set.  The  electrician  stood 
at  his  switchboard  in  the  wings,  his  hands 
shaking  as  he  touched  the  different  buttons 
to  assure  himself  that  they  were  all  in  work- 
ing order.  The  wardrobe  mistress  anxiously 
hovered  near,  eagerly  scanning  the  costumes 

325 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

for  flaws  she  knew  could  not  be  there.  Three 
members  of  the  cast  stood  in  a  group,  pre- 
tending to  be  interested  in  conversation.  Their 
eyes  roved  about  restlessly,  and  every  now  and 
then  one  moistened  her  lips  nervously.  Two 
actors  were  chewing  gum.  The  "  heavy  man  " 
sat  down  on  a  bench  as  if  to  rest,  but  he  soon 
rose  and  walked  back  and  forth,  biting  sav- 
agely at  his  thumb-nail.  The  "  juvenile  "  ac- 
tress tapped  her  foot  on  the  ground  and  stared 
before  her.  The  villain  wandered  back  and 
forth  across  the  stage  with  an  air  of  bravado 
in  the  way  he  carried  himself,  but  his  eyes 
showed  fear. 

Bryce  Gordon  was  in  a  dark  corner  pressing 
his  hands  against  his  throbbing  temples.  The 
stage  manager  walked  about  aimlessly,  talking 
excitedly,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  was  say- 
ing. Everybody  was  ready,  waiting  for  the 
leading  woman. 

Jane  sat  in  her  dressing-room,  weak  and 
trembling,  suffering  all  the  queer  agonies  of 

326 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

stage  fright.  The  room  was  pungent  with  the 
odor  of  grease  paint  and  flowers  that  lay  knee 
deep  in  the  corners.  Jane  cared  nothing  for 
flowers  now;  all  she  knew  was  that  beyond 
the  curtain  was  a  critical,  expectant  audience, 
that  to-night  she  would  lose  or  win. 

Gaston  bent  over  her,  one  hand  on  her  shoul- 
der, —  a  hand  cold  as  her  own,  —  and  held  a 
glass  of  water  to  her  lips,  for  she  was  trem- 
bling too  much  to  manage  the  tumbler. 

"  I  can't  think,"  she  whispered  harshly.  "  I 
can't  remember  my  lines,  I  can't  talk,  I  can't 
hear  my  own  voice." 

"  Steady,  now,"  said  Gaston  gently.  "  You 
aren't  the  first  actress  that  ever  had  a  first- 
night." 

"  Miss  Carrington !  "  cried  the  call  boy  in- 
sistently for  the  tenth  time.  "  Eight  forty- 
five!" 

"  What !  "  Gaston  leaped  forward.  He  had 
not  realized  how  time  had  flown.  "  Ring  up 
the  curtain ! " 

327 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Oh,  I  can't !  "  Jane  fell  forward,  her  head 
on  her  lap,  her  hands  almost  touching  the  toes 
of  her  green  satin  slippers.  The  opalescent 
chiffons  veiling  the  flame  color  of  the  Fire 
Opal's  costume  crushed  against  her  opal- 
studded  girdle,  and  trailed  in  ripples  about  her 
to  the  floor.  Gaston  grasped  her  by  the  shoul- 
der and  shook  her  roughly. 

"  Get  up !  "  he  stormed.  "  Get  up !  If  you 
fail,  I  '11  never  give  you  another  chance.  They 
are  waiting  for  you.  Come !  "  He  dragged 
her  to  her  feet  and  drew  her,  stumbling,  to 
the  wings.  The  curtain  was  rising  slowly. 
The  audience  watched  it  eagerly,  as  if  feel- 
ing vaguely  its  weight  in  terms  of  human 
destiny.  Gaston  stood  in  her  way,  so  she  did 
not  see  the  gap  which,  like  the  yawning  mouth 
of  a  cavern,  brought  the  real  and  the  unreal 
world  face  to  face,  but  she  heard  the  voices 
of  the  actors.  She  clung  to  Gaston,  shifting 
tfrom  one  foot  to  the  other  as  each  in  turn 

trembled  too  violently  to  support  her. 

328 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

"  My  mouth  's  dry  as  ashes  —  I  can't  re- 
member my  lines.  What  do  I  say  first?" 

" '  Farewell,  Tino,  I  shall  see  you,  then, 
again  to-morrow.'  Then  you  raise  the  gera- 
niums to  your  lips  as  you  stand  up-stage  and 
face  the  house." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  remember ;  but  I  shall  for- 
get it  in  a  moment." 

"  You  dare  not  fail !  I  have  encouraged 
you  enough.  I  tell  you  there  is  no  doubt  of 
your  success,  but  you  Ve  got  to  play  up  or 
I  'm  done  with  you.  Do  you  hear  what  I  'm 
saying  to  you?  Everything  depends  upon  you, 
-  my  reputation,  Gordon's  and  yours.  If  you 
fail,  if  you  don't  play  with  all  that 's  in  you 
to-night,  I  'm  done  with  you.  Do  you  hear  ? ': 

Then,  quickly,  "  There  's  your  cue,  now  go!  " 

He  pushed  her  forward.  She  was  to  enter 
slowly,  walking  backward,  as  if  gazing  after 
her  lover,  whom  she  was  supposed  to  have  left 
in  the  garden  off  stage.  Gaston  had  pushed 
her  energetically  and  she  walked  for  a  short 

329 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

distance  without  effort,  but,  from  that  moment 
on,  it  seemed  ages  before  she  reached  the  stage. 
Gaston  applauded  her  silently  from  the  wings, 
and  though  her  voice  was  weak,  she  called  out 
to  him :  "  Farewell,  Tino,  I  will  see  you,  then, 
again  to-morrow ! " 

She  was  on  the  stage. 

She  felt  the  glare  of  the  footlights,  the 
presence  of  a  house  full  of  human  beings ;  she 
smelt  the  scent  of  American  Beauties  as  it 
mingled  strangely  with  the  must  of  the  stage. 

"Come  early!" 

Her  voice  was  soft,  languishing,  full  of 
bashful  coquetry.  She  waited,  looking  off 
stage,  and  then  turning  towards  the  audience 
raised  the  mass  of  geraniums  to  her  lips.  In 
recognition  the  house  echoed  with  a  greeting 
of  applause  which  made  Jane  draw  a  quick, 
exultant  breath.  She  smiled.  She  had  re- 
ceived the  stimulus  she  needed.  Suddenly  she 
knew  that  she  loved  the  blotched  trees,  the 
coarse,  painted  sky,  the  feel  of  the  make-up 

330 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

on  her  face.  A  little  spirit  cried  ecstatically 
within  her.  Her  brain  cleared  like  mist  under 
a  cold  wind  and  divided  into  two  distinct  en- 
tities. One  was  the  character  of  the  Fire  Opal, 
the  other  Jane  herself,  watching  from  a  height 
a  woman  in  veiled  flame-color  upon  a  little 
stage.  Subconsciously  she  was  testing  the 
character  of  her  audience,  studying  how  to 
reach  their  sympathy,  and  unconsciously  she 
did  effective  business  that  had  not  been  pre- 
arranged. The  weeks  of  varied  experience 
on  the  road,  the  hours  and  hours  of  study  and 
rehearsal,  were  bringing  their  reward,  and  to- 
night she  was  playing  as  if  she  were  born  to 
the  part. 

After  the  climax,  in  answer  to  the  storms 
of  deafening  applause  that  shook  the  house, 
the  curtain  rose  again  and  again.  Gaston  was 
counting  the  times  from  the  wings.  The  com- 
pany filed  out  to  take  the  curtains,  until  at 
length  came  the  cries  for  "Gaston!  Gaston! 
Gaston ! " 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

And  Gaston  came.  The  cries  ended  in  shouts 
of  joy  at  sight  of  his  handsome  face,  and  then 
the  house  was  hushed  to  listen. 

Falteringly,  timidly,  kindly,  he  said  a  few 
low-voiced  words.  "  I  cannot  talk  to  you,  I 
never  do,"  he  told  them.  "  I  can  only  thank 
you  for  your  enthusiasm  and  appreciation  of 
our  work.  I  thank  you  for  myself  and  com- 
pany and  this  young  woman  who  has  worked 
so  faithfully  —  Miss  Carrington." 

Gaston  stepped  to  the  wings  and  led  Jane 
out.  He  escorted  her  to  the  center  of  the 
stage  and  then  left  her  standing  there  alone. 
There  was  an  expectant  silence.  Jane  stood 
as  if  undecided  whether  to  fly  or  remain.  By 
the  nervous  clasping  and  unclasping  of  her 
hands  it  was  evident  to  all  that  she  was  strug- 
gling for  self-control.  Then,  as  the  tears 
rolled  down  her  cheeks,  she  gave  a  stifled, 
plaintive,  child-like  "  Thank  you  "  and  fled  to 
the  wings,  sobbing  at  the  triumph,  which  was 
greater  than  she  had  ever  dreamed  it  could 

332 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

be.  Only  then  did  the  audience  think  of  the 
author  and  call  for  him.  But  authors  are 
often  cowards  on  opening  nights  and  cannot 
be  found.  Bryce  had  disappeared. 

'  Twenty-two  curtains  after  the  climax," 
said  the  critics,  as  they  congregated  in  the 
foyer  during  the  following  intermission.  "  It 's 
one  of  Gaston's  usual  successes." 

"  I  must  see  Jane  at  once,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Van  Mueller,  wiping  real  tears  from  her  eyes; 
"  I  must  see  her  at  once." 

But  though  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  had  power 
in  the  social  world,  she  learned  that  the  theat- 
rical one  was  not  to  be  ruled  by  it.  Jane 
was  queen  of  the  theater  that  night  and  in 
no  mood  to  recall  a  different  life.  She  re- 
turned word  that  she  was  very  sorry  she 
could  not  see  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  and  her 
party,  but  would  be  pleased  to  have  them 
take  tea  with  her  at  her  hotel  the  following 
afternoon. 

Mrs.  Van  Mueller  was  shocked  by  the  an- 
333 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

swer.  She  had  never  dreamed  that  any  court 
could  be  closed  to  her.  Jane's  growing  repu- 
tation and  evidently  brilliant  future,  as  well 
as  her  present  success,  piqued  the  older 
woman's  pride.  She  decided  to  accept  the  in- 
vitation to  tea,  and  make  Jane  promise  that 
she  would  be  her  guest  of  honor  when  she 
played  in  Chicago.  Mrs.  Van  Mueller  could 
not  say  that  she  liked  actresses  in  general,  but 
a  coming  star !  —  well,  that  was  different. 

"  Where  is  my  husband?  "  Jane  was  asking 
behind  the  scenes. 

Craig  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  laugh. 
"  Oh,  he  's  only  the  author,  you  know." 

Jane  flared  a  bit.      '  This  is  no  time  for  a 
jest." 

Craig  muttered  something. 

"  Stop  swearing,  Craig,  and  please  find  my 
husband." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  find  your  husband, 
madam,"   he  answered  significantly. 

"  The  success  is  making  you  silly,  Craig." 
334 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

"  Is  it  ?  They  gave  me  three  curtains  all 
to  myself  —  that 's  something  to  boast  about 
to  my  wife." 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  were  married." 

"  Of  course  I  'm  married.  She  was  in  the 
fifth  row." 

"  Please  get  my  husband." 

"  And  give  me  —  " 

With  one  quick  step  Craig  was  close  to  Jane, 
who  was  leaning  against  the  open  door  of  her 
dressing-room.  She  made  a  hasty  movement 
away,  but  the  warning  had  not  come  in  time. 
His  lips  slipped  along  her  cheek.  She  glared 
at  him,  resentment  leaping  into  her  eyes;  she 
wanted  to  speak  but  could  form  no  words.  He 
took  her  silence  flatteringly. 

"  Now  I  '11  get  your  husband,"  he  said 
pleasantly. 

Then  she  began  to  tremble  and  grow  weak, 
and  wonderingly  questioned  her  strange  agi- 
tation. She  watched  his  loose,  graceful  figure 
going  away,  then  she  slowly,  thoughtfully, 

335 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

closed  her  door,  and  in  the  looking-glass 
faced  her  maid.  She  started. 

"Ah  — Marie!" 

Marie  had  been  a  stage  maid  for  many 
years;  she  merely  smiled. 

It  worried  Jane  the  rest  of  the  night  that 
she  could  not  summon  more  resentment  against 
Craig;  that  she  could  not  dislike  him.  She 
wondered  what  Bryce  would  think  about  it, 
but  she  did  not  ask  him. 

As  to  Bryce,  he  had  taken  one  look  at  the 
crowded  house  that  always  greeted  Gaston, 
and  then  had  dashed  out  to  a  rival  attraction 
down  the  street.  It  ended  before  "  The  Fire 
Opal/'  and  he  walked  about  the  block  until 
he  saw  a  parti-colored  stream  of  humanity  pour 
out  of  the  Gaston  Theater.  Then  he  thrust 
into  the  current,  straining  his  ears  to  catch 
scraps  of  comment  about  his  play. 

The  whole  thing  seemed  so  unreal,  so  im- 
possible, that  even  now  he  could  hardly  believe 
it  true.  "  The  Fire  Opal  "  had  been  in  manu- 

336 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

script  three  years  —  long  before  he  had  begun 
the  work  on  his  novel  —  and  during  that  time 
it  had  been  hawked  about  New  York  without 
avail.  Jane's  sudden  inspiration,  Gaston's  ac- 
ceptance, the  evolution  under  his  hands,  the 
very  sign  above  the  portico,  seemed  to  Bryce 
like  a  dream  from  which  he  would  presently 
pinch  himself  awake.  He  listened  to  the  voices 
about  him. 

"  Queer,  unusual  play.  Did  you  notice  who 
wrote  it  ?  "  asked  a  clever-faced  woman  in  a 
black-and-gold  evening  wrap. 

"  No,  I  don't  remember.  I  left  my  program 
in  the  box.  Will  you  join  us  at  Rector's?  " 

Bryce  smiled  ironically.  Who  had  heard  of 
him,  a  playwright?  Who  was  there  who  had 
not  heard  of  Rector's? 

The  carriage  caller  blocked  his  way. 

"  Drive  up  there !  Two  seventy-eight !  No, 
your  man  has  n't  come  yet.  Two  sixty-two !  " 

The  women  waiting  looked  back  at  the 
throng.  "  My,  what  a  house ! "  one  of  them 

337 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

exclaimed.  "  Gaston  always  has  brilliant  open- 
ing nights,  has  n't  he  ?  Was  n't  it  funny  they 
could  n't  find  the  author  ?  " 

Ah,  then  they  had  asked  for  him! 

"  How  did  you  like  the  play,  my  son?  "  asked 
a  white-haired  man  with  a  wise  and  kindly 
face. 

"  I  do  not  know,  father ;  I  am  thinking," 
answered  the  serious-eyed  young  man  he  had 
addressed. 

'  That  is  well,  my  boy.    It 's  a  great  play." 

Then  Bryce  had  courage  to  go  in  and  face 
Gaston.  He  knew  now  that  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world  he  had  redeemed  himself. 


338 


CHAPTER   XV 

"  The  Fire  Opal "  could  have  run  a  season 
in  New  York,  but  rival  organizations  were  in- 
terfering with  Gaston's  bookings,  and  he  had 
to  make  room  for  other  attractions  in  the  Gas- 
ton  Theater  by  sending  "  The  Fire  Opal  "  com- 
pany on  the  road. 

Jane  and  Bryce  held  a  consultation  in  her 
dressing-room  after  the  last  New  York  per- 
formance. It  was  beyond  question  that  Jane 
must  go  with  the  company.  There  was  no  one 
else  who  could  play  the  part  of  the  erratic, 
vivid  creature  who  called  herself  "  The  Fire 
Opal,"  and  gave  the  play  its  name.  She  was 
at  the  beginning  of  her  fame  now,  and  it  would 
be  folly  for  her  to  remain  in  New  York.  It 
was  not  to  be  questioned  that  Jane  must  go, 
and  neither  she  nor  Bryce  hesitated  for  an 
instant. 

339 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

But  Bryce  was  another  affair,  and  he  de- 
bated a  long  time  before  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  leave  her.  Jane  had  grown  dearer  to  him 
with  every  day.  Yet  with  "  The  Fire  Opal " 
he  had  made  his  first  big  success,  and  now, 
while  it  was  fresh  in  the  minds  of  the  public, 
was  the  time  to  follow  it  up. 

A  famous  publishing-house,  in  whose  files  a 
manuscript  of  his  had  lain  neglected  for 
months,  was  featuring  it  as  "  the  great  Ameri- 
can novel,  by  Bryce  Gordon,  author  of  '  The 
Fire  Opal/  '  There  were  photographs  and 
articles  about  him  in  the  magazines;  in  one 
of  the  yellower  journals  he  had  "  made  the 
first  page."  Influential  people  suddenly  re- 
membered his  existence  and  introduced  him  to 
other  influentials.  He  had  an  idea  for  a  new 
play  which  he  needed  to  work  out  in  quiet,  — 
a  quiet  that  traveling  with  "  The  Fire  Opal  " 
company  could  not  possibly  give  him.  Jane 
declared  firmly  that  he  must  stay  in  New  York. 

"  I  should  never  forgive  myself  for  being 
340 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

so  selfish,"  she  protested.  "  Of  course  I  shall 
miss  you  dreadfully,  but  you  simply  must  stay." 

"  Will  you  miss  me  so  much,  I  wonder, 
Jane  ?  "  Bryce  asked  almost  wistfully.  "  You 
live  more  and  more  in  the  theater  every  day." 

She  looked  at  him  reproachfully  out  of  big, 
dark  eyes,  and  put  up  her  mouth  for  a  kiss. 
The  argument  was  unanswerable,  and  Bryce 
accepted  it. 

Many  times  he  kissed  her  before  that  day 
of  good-by  when  the  company  moved  out  of 
New  York.  It  would  be  at  least  six  months 
before  he  could  possibly  see  her  again. 

Jane  rolled  freedom  under  her  tongue  with 
zest.  Her  position  of  leading  woman  gave  her 
professional  prestige,  her  beauty  and  charm 
won  her  friends  everywhere.  All  the  energy 
she  had  once  wasted  in  bizarre  behavior  was 
now  expended  in  her  playing.  Her  perfor- 
mances varied  temperamentally,  but  her  work 
was  always  conscientious  and  earnest.  And, 
as  Bryce  had  said,  she  grew  daily  more  ab- 

34i 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

sorbed  in  her  part  and  her  development  of 
herself.  For  days  together  she  did  not  think 
of  her  family,  and  hardly  remembered  Bryce. 
She  worked  eagerly,  polishing  here,  discard- 
ing there,  training  herself  wherever  she 
thought  she  was  weak.  The  magic  of  the 
theater  enthralled  her ;  what  happened  outside 
its  little  sphere  was  as  remote  and  uninterest- 
ing as  what  happened  on  Mars.  Jane  was  an 
actress  at  last. 

She  looked  the  part  as  she  sat  in  her  dress- 
ing-room after  a  Christmas  matinee  in  San 
Francisco.  Outside  the  day  was  cold  and  raw, 
with  a  fog  that  swept  in  from  the  sea,  but 
Jane  seemed  like  an  exotic  as  she  leaned  back 
on  the  couch,  book  in  hand,  a  delicate  chiffon 
neglig'ee  flung  about  her,  and  her  make-up 
still  on.  The  matinee  had  begun  late,  not 
to  interfere  with  roast  turkeys,  and  the 
evening  performance  was  only  an  hour  or 
two  away.  It  was  not  worth  while  to  go  to 
her  hotel. 

342 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

Yet  Jane  almost  wished  she  had  done  so, 
merely  to  see  people  moving  about  the  corri- 
dors. She  could  not  concentrate  on  her  book, 
and  threw  it  down.  After  all,  why  should  she 
be  alone  here  on  the  greatest  day  in  the  year? 
She  missed  the  Christmas  turkey,  the  Christ- 
mas celebration,  that  was  a  matter  of  tradi- 
tion in  the  Carrington  household,  the  shower 
of  gifts,  the  gayety  she  had  always  associated 
with  the  holiday.  True,  the  public  had  paid 
her  homage,  and  her  dressing-room  was  full 
of  notes  and  flowers,  but  she  wanted  something 
warmer  and  deeper  than  sympathy  from  across 
the  footlights.  Of  course  she  could  not  have 
accepted  any  invitations  if  they  had  been  given, 
but  it  would  have  pleased  her  to  have  been 
asked.  She  was  tired  of  hotels;  if  she  could 
have  had  only  one  day  of  home  life,  Jane 
thought,  she  would  be  happy.  She  began  to 
dream  of  the  time  when  she  could  build  a  home 
for  herself  and  Bryce. 

Of  course,  for  Bryce,  too ;  she  was  not  f or- 
343 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

getting  him.  Of  all  the  messages  she  had  re- 
ceived, the  only  ones  she  cherished  were  those 
from  Bryce  and  Gaston.  But  he  was  so  far 
away,  and  she  had  so  many  other  interests, 
that  she  was  learning  to  live  without  him.  His 
frequent  letters  about  his  own  work  were  be- 
ginning to  bore  her,  and  she  found  it  more 
and  more  difficult  to  answer  them.  She  startled 
herself  by  wondering  if  after  all  their  love 
had  been  the  mere  result  of  propinquity.  Then 
she  reproved  herself  for  the  thought.  Of 
course  she  loved  Bryce ;  but  just  now  it  seemed 
only  natural  that  her  main  interests  should  be 
her  part,  the  number  of  curtain  calls  she  won, 
the  articles  in  the  newspapers  about  her,  the 
devotion  of  the  company. 

Restlessly  she  rose  and  paced  her  narrow 
room.  For  three  hours  she  had  been  playing 
with  emotions,  and  she  was  unnerved,  tired, 
but  sleepless,  mentally  weary  and  emotionally 
disturbed.  She  wanted  companionship,  the 
more  sympathetic  the  better.  It  was  not 

344 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

strange,  she  reflected,  that  women  go  under, 
forced  into  an  unnatural  solitude  by  the  life 
of  the  theater.  There  were  occasions  in  every 
actress'  life  when  the  endurance  of  solitude 
must  become  a  battle.  It  was  not  so  much  to 
the  discredit  of  those  who  lost  as  it  was  to 
the  supreme  credit  of  those  who  won,  the  very 
nature  of  the  profession  made  the  odds  so 
great. 

She  had  got  quite  muddled  in  her  philosophy 
when  a  familiar  knock  came  on  her  door.  She 
darted  to  her  mirror  for  a  quick  look,  her 
heart  fluttering,  and  her  voice  quivering,  as 
she  called  "  Come." 

Craig  entered. 

"  Catch ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  Jane  had 
scarcely  time  to  screen  her  face  from  the 
shower  of  American  Beauties  that  fell  about 
her.  They  clung  to  her  hair  and  her  white 
chiffon  gown,  petals  scattering  everywhere. 

Craig  laughed  as  she  stooped  to  gather  the 
roses. 

345 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  Leave  them,"  he  said;  "  it  makes  a  picture. 
Leave  them  on  your  dress,  too.  Let  them  tear 
it  if  they  insist.  Humor  me  this  Christmas 
Day." 

'''  Indeed  I  will,"  she  replied,  smiling  won- 
derfully as  she  raised  to  her  lips  the  few  she 
had  caught  with  her  hands. 

Craig  leaned  over  to  breathe  their  fragrance, 
covering  her  hands  with  his.  She  did  not 
draw  away;  why  should  she?  He  held  her 
like  that  in  a  scene  in  the  play.  There  was 
no  difference  except  that  just  then  his  touch 
quickened  her  pulse. 

"  It  was  dear  of  you,"  she  murmured. 

He  dug  the  thorns  of  a  rose  into  the  chiffon 
of  her  throat,  and  stood  as  if  fascinated,  watch- 
ing the  red  petals  palpitate  with  the  uneven 
rise  and  fall  of  her  breath. 

"  Wonderful  woman !  "  he  said.  His  voice 
was  low. 

Jane  instinctively  raised  a  hand  to  her  neck, 
as  if  to  shield  it  from  his  gaze. 

346 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

He  closed  his  eyes  a  second  and  then  looked 
away  with  something  of  a  scowl,  as  if  he 
were  trying  to  drive  out  some  unwelcome 
thought. 

'''  It 's  mean  out,"  he  remarked  irrelevantly, 
swinging  himself  gracefully  upon  her  costume 
trunk  and  picking  up  a  cup  of  tea  from  a  tray 
beside  him. 

"  Don't  take  that."  Jane  hurried  to  prevent 
him.  "  It 's  cold." 

Craig  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  No  matter. 
It  is  enough  that  it  is  your  cup." 

'  What  a  flatterer  you  are,  Craig,"  she  said, 
trying  to  laugh. 

"  Come  now,  Jane,"  —  there  was  pleasant 
raillery  in  his  tone,  -  - "  don't  tell  me  you  don't 
know  how  splendid  you  are." 

'  Yes,  I  must  be  —  at  close  range  —  like 
this,"  she  answered,  indicating  her  long 
black  lashes  heavily  beaded  and  her  carmined 
lips. 

He  dismissed  her  remark. 
347 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"Too  used  to  it  to  notice.  It  was  wise  of 
you  to  make  it  do  for  both  shows.  Wish  I 
had.  Sit  down,  or  I  shall  have  to  get  up." 

"  Oh !  "  Jane  dropped  upon  the  couch.  "  I 
forgot  I  was  standing.  I  'm  a  bit  upset." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  I  don't  know  —  homesick  perhaps  —  bored 
with  myself  —  restless,  lonely." 

"  I  knew  you  'd  be  —  that 's  why  I  came 
back." 

Her  eyes  thanked  him. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Craig." 

"  Oh  no,  just  selfish.  It 's  a  queer  life  at 
best;  gets  on  your  nerves,  too." 

"  I  suppose  so.  The  one-night  stands  were 
awful.  But  I  've  never  felt  quite  like  this 
before.  It 's  as  if  a  fever  were  consuming 
me." 

Craig  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  "  It 's 
what  I  call  the  fever  of  the  theater,"  he  said 
slowly;  "it's  a  ruinous  thing." 

"  Would  n't  you  think,  though,"  continued 
348 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

Jane  plaintively,  "  that  some  friend  in  San 
Francisco  would  share  a  home  with  me  to-day  ? 
Some  of  the  girls  in  this  town  have  even  been 
my  house  guests." 

Craig  shook  his  head.  He  had  a  charm- 
ing, debonair  way  of  dismissing  unpleasant 
thoughts. 

'  Their  very  exclusiveness  is  acknowledg- 
ment of  your  success,"  he  answered.  "  Fame 
increases  the  adulation  of  the  crowd  and  de- 
creases the  familiarity  of  the  few.  Every 
rung  you  climb  on  the  ladder  separates  you 
just  that  much  more  from  your  friends.  You 
don't  feel  differently  towards  them;  you  love 
them  just  as  you  did  before.  It  is  they  who 
draw  away  from  you,  it  is  they  who  raise  the 
barriers.  The  greatest  men  are  the  simplest, 
and  yet,  where  there  is  greatness  there  is  al- 
ways loneliness." 

"  But  I  am  not  great,"  denied  Jane  modestly. 
"  I  am  only  trying." 

"  No  matter.  Take  my  word  for  it,  the  man 
349 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

at  the  top  is  lonely.  He  won't  always  admit 
it  — but  he  is." 

'  There  is  something  sweet,"  said  Jane  re- 
flectively, "  in  realizing  that  the  highest  man 
has  a  vulnerable  spot  somewhere.  It  seems 
to  humanize  even  the  greatest." 

Craig  rose  from  the  trunk  and  went  to  take 
the  chair  before  her  dressing-table. 

"  We  're  all  sensitive  when  it  is  a  question 
of  ourselves,"  he  said.  "  I  Ve  known  that  so 
long,  I  suppose  that 's  why  I  Ve  never  feared 
any  one.  I  Ve  always  been  able  to  see  the 
other  fellow  as  he  sees  himself.  When  you 
do  that  you  stop  condemning  and  just  forgive, 
and  that  makes  you  a  good  mixer."  j 

"  Is  that  a  kind  way  of  scolding  me  for 
giving  you  all  my  time  and  attention  instead 
of  dividing  it  among  the  company?  " 

Craig  stared  absently  at  the  rabbit's  foot 
with  which  he  was  toying  while  he  hesitated 
to  choose  the  words  he  wished. 

"  It  is  n't  that  your  companionship  does  n't 
350 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

mean  a  great  deal  to  me,"  he  said  with  some 
difficulty.  '  That 's  just  it.  I  can't  help  show- 
ing how  I  treasure  it,  and  they  've  remarked 
upon  it;  they  discuss  you." 

Jane  flared.     "  How  dare  they  ?  " 

'  That 's  what  I  meant,"  he  continued  slowly. 

'  You  see  we  are  together  on  the  trains,  we 

both  go  to  the  best  hotel,  we  dine  together,  - 

all  that,  —  and  you  see  I  —  well,  the  truth  is, 

Jane,  they  just  know  me  better  than  you  do." 

Jane  felt  a  swift  stab  of  pain  and  then  she 
straightened  defiantly. 

'''  I  know  you  as  well  as  any  of  them.  I 
recognize  in  you  a  man  of  the  world  who  has 
the  manners  of  the  gentlemen  I  have  been  used 
to  meeting.  I  recognized  the  stamp  of  breeding 
the  first  time  I  saw  you.  Of  course  I  knew 
-  there  are  stories  about  your  —  about  you. 
But  even  if  I  had  n't  known,  your  manner 
would  have  told  me.  You  understand  women 
very  well,  Craig." 

Craig   lowered   his   eyes   and   his   nervous 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

fingers  played  among  the  confusion  of  things 
on  the  table. 

"  We  are  thrown  with  a  great  many  people 
in  this  business,"  he  said  vaguely,  "  and  one 
is  inclined  to  become  a  cynic  as  well  as  a 
sentimentalist." 

"  I  don't  understand  that  paradox,"  said 
Jane,  puzzled.  "  If  a  man  has  sentiment  for 
a  woman,  how  can  he  be  a  cynic  about  it?  I 
am  sure  I  could  n't." 

'  You  are  young  —  in  the  profession,"  he 
said  briefly.  '  You  '11  learn  a  lot  of  things  in 
the  next  ten  years." 

Jane  thought  of  Kate's  haggard  face,  and 
sighed. 

"  I  don't  want  to  become  hardened,"  she 
protested. 

'  You  never  will ;  you  're  not  made  like  that. 
You  are  going  to  suffer  a  great  deal,  —  you 
have  so  much  capacity  for  it,  —  but  when  you 
finally  strike  the  big  thing,  it 's  going  to  glorify 
you.  Some  women  are  like  that." 

352 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

"  What  —  do  you  mean,"  Jane  dared  to  ask, 
"by  the  big  thing?" 

"  Love,"  said  Craig. 

"  There  is  Bryce,"  she  suggested. 

"  Passion,"  corrected  Craig. 

"  Ah !  "  Jane  rose,  half  stifling  her  excla- 
mation. Then  she  made  a  brave  effort  to  make 
up  for  her  hesitation. 

"  Bryce  has  been  everything  to  me  —  like  a 
mother  —  a  father  —  " 

"  I  know  it,"  he  cut  her  off.  "  I  saw  it  from 
the  start.  It 's  his  style." 

"  You  are  speaking  in  riddles,"  she  com- 
plained, less  interested  now. 

"Am  I?" 

"  Yes,  you  are.  How  you  irritate  me  when 
you  elude  answering !  " 

Craig  glanced  at  her  keenly,  and  his  eyes 
suddenly  glowed. 

"  How  you  could  love !  "  he  flashed.  "  Every 
night  in  the  play  when  I  hold  you  there  in 
my  arms  I  feel  it." 

353 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  In  the  play !  "  exclaimed  Jane.  "  You  can 
feel  —  you  can  think  ?  I  am  always  too  busy 
with  my  part  to  feel  anything  else." 

"  So  I  have  discovered.  You  positively  with- 
draw into  your  brain." 

"  And  you  —  you  feel  ?  " 

"  Well,"  Craig  assumed  a  nonchalant  tone, 
"  I  've  managed  to  come  along  with  the  com- 
pany without  getting  my  notice." 

Jane  was  more  upset  by  his  flippancy  than 
by  his  frankness. 

"  I  'm  angry  with  you,  Craig." 

He  laughed.     "  You  look  it." 

"  Now  I  am  angrier  still." 

"  You  don't  look  it." 

Jane  felt  weak.  There  was  something  in- 
toxicating in  this  fencing,  and  the  look  in  his 
eyes.  With  difficulty  she  continued,  "  After  all 
—  it  is  work  I  need,  more  work,  more  work. 
I  wish  it  were  time  for  the  performance." 

"  I  'm  glad  it  is  n't."  Craig  was  throwing 
discretion  to  the  winds.  "  I  say,  you  are  in 

354 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

a  ripping  mood,  Jane."  He  stood  up  to  face 
her.  "  I  don't  know  whether  to  believe  you 
are  acting  Opal  or  not.  You  are  getting 
better  fire  into  her  every  day.  I  Ve  written 
Gaston  how  well  the  climax  is  going.  You 
are  beginning  to  interpret  it  now  as  if  you 
had  really  once  lost  a  lover  —  or  had  found 
one,"  he  added,  watching  her  narrowly. 

Jane  sank  back  on  the  couch,  a  quiver  run- 
ning through  her. 

"  I  give  it  up,"  she  said,  closing  her 
eyes. 

Craig  came  over  to  her  and  put  his  arms 
tenderly  about  her.  He  did  it  that  way  in 
the  play  to  comfort  her  —  why  not  now?  It 
gave  her  infinite  solace  to  lean  her  head  against 
his  shoulder,  to  touch  him,  to  feel  his  breath 
on  her  forehead.  She  was  lonely,  she  told  her- 
self, and  wanted  a  man's  devotion. 

His  lips  touched  her  temple  to  feel  if  it 
throbbed,  and  then  crept  softly  along  her  cheek 
to  her  lips,  leaving  a  sensitive,  vibrating  path 

355 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

behind  them.  Their  contact  was  like  the  com- 
pletion of  an  electrical  circuit  —  Craig  knew 
that  for  every  bounding  pulse,  every  thrilling 
nerve  in  him,  Jane  now  had  its  mate  in  her. 
A  few  minutes  earlier  he  had  asked  himself 
if  he  could  win  her,  calculating  cool  chances 
from  the  flicker  of  her  eyes  and  the  quality  of 
her  voice;  but  with  that  gliding  kiss,  that  ended 
in  the  red  flower  of  her  mouth,  thought  stopped, 
and  he  deliberately  let  himself  go  in  a  deli- 
cious confusion  of  the  senses.  Sex  was  an  art 
with  Craig. 

As  for  Jane,  she  did  not  resist;  she  did  not 
wish  to  try.  She  thought  of  Bryce,  and  made 
an  instinctive  little  movement  to  release  her- 
self; but  it  was  half-hearted,  and  Craig  drew 
her  closer  again.  With  a  sigh  she  let  herself 
drift,  and  out  of  her  consciousness  ebbed  all 
thought  except  the  wonderful,  vivid  idea  that 
she  had  just  been  waiting  for  him,  that  never 
had  she  felt  for  any  one  what  she  felt  for 
Craig.  With  closed  eyes  she  lay  still.  Her 

356 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

lips  kissed  under  his  kisses.  The  world  was 
encompassed  in  his  clasping  arms. 

Craig  knew  when  to  be  gentle,  but  he  also 
knew  when  to  insist. 

'  Tell  me  you  love  me,"  he  cried,  suddenly 
crushing  her  and  the  roses  fiercely  in  his  arms. 

"  I  do,  I  do,"  she  gasped,  her  clasp  tighten- 
ing about  his  neck,  her  lips  pressed  closer  to 
his.  '  You  are  too  strong  for  me  —  say  you 
love  me,  too." 

There  was  a  rush  of  emotion,  and  the  tre- 
mendous moment  of  their  association,  the  swift 
rise  to  the  culminating  point  of  their  intimacy, 
hedged  in  a  flash  about  them. 

"  I  want  you!  "  he  muttered. 

Jane  turned  her  face  away  from  his  seeking 
lips,  vaguely  repelled,  and  opened  her  eyes 
again  on  the  world.  The  naked  soul  of  the 
man  stood  out  in  his  face  now,  and  suddenly 
every  fiber  in  Jane  stiffened  to  resistance.  The 
good  impulses  of  a  lifetime  had  built  a  founda- 
tion  able  to  stand  the  test.  For  an  instant 

357 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

there  was  a  rebellious  protest  from  the  woman 
who  had  been  swept  off  her  feet,  followed  by 
a  laugh  of  scorn  from  the  artist. 

"  What  a  scene  to  act ! "  cried  the  artist 
wildly. 

Craig  recoiled,  livid  as  if  struck.  He  had 
lost.  It  was  over. 

Later,  when  the  maid  returned,  she  found 
Jane  alone  on  her  knees  before  the  couch,  sob- 
bing, suffering,  praying.  There  were  crushed 
rose-leaves  on  the  floor. 

"Madame  —  crying?"  exclaimed  Marie  in 
concern  as  she  went  to  help  Jane  arise.  "  Ah, 
dommage.  The  make-up  is  ruined.  I  am  late ; 
only  fifteen  minutes  before  the  overture." 

"  Go  away !  "  cried  Jane  in  anguish.  '''  Leave 
me  alone." 

"  Madame  must  play,"  replied  Marie  in- 
exorably; she  had  been  a  stage  maid  a  long 
time. 

Jane  let  herself  be  dragged  to  the  dressing- 
358   ' 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

table.  She  could  not  meet  her  own  eyes  in 
the  mirror;  it  took  one  supreme  effort  after 
another  to  finish  her  costuming. 

"  Yes,"  Jane  kept  repeating  desperately,  "  I 
must  play  —  I  must !  " 


359 


CHAPTER   XVI 

Jane  and  Craig  stood  in  the  wings  together, 
waiting  for  their  cue,  poignantly  conscious  of 
each  other's  nearness.  They  did  not  speak, 
but  each  knew  what  the  other  knew  and  what 
the  other  felt,  and  both  were  shaken  by  the 
knowledge. 

At  least,  Jane  thought  she  knew  what  Craig 
felt,  although  he  hardly  knew  himself.  There 
were  too  many  people  inside  Craig's  skin  for 
his  own  comfort,  and  some  one  of  them  was 
always  likely  to  pop  up  unexpectedly  and  over- 
set the  plans  of  the  rest.  He  wanted  Jane; 
but  more  than  that,  he  was  curious  to  see  the 
workings  of  her  mind,  and  what  she  would 
do  under  stress.  He  \vatched  her  now,  cov- 
ertly. Evidently  he  had  got  down  to  her 
depths.  His  conclusion  was  quite  right.  Stage 

fright  had  never  held  the  torture  of  this  pres- 

360 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

ent  mingling  of  moral  fear  and  professional 
nervousness.  How  would  the  public  take  their 
acting,  Jane  wondered.  How  could  she  man- 
age her  part?  How  could  they  go  through 
the  agony  of  meeting  in  the  story  of  the 
play? 

The  performance  was  the  first  failure  in  the 
history  of  "  The  Fire  Opal."  Jane  held  Craig 
at  arm's  length  in  desperation.  Their  scenes 
were  matter-of-fact,  repressed,  without  human 
appeal.  Applause  after  the  climax  was  only 
courteous,  in  contrast  to  the  enthusiastic  ap- 
preciation they  had  received  ever  since  the 
opening.  The  road  manager,  bewildered  and 
dismayed  beyond  gentlemanly  words,  flew  at 
Craig,  stormed  at  Jane,  pleaded,  cajoled,  and 
called  a  rehearsal  for  the  next  morning.  The 
company,  amazed,  whispered  in  corners,  and 
cast  sidelong  looks  at  the  two. 

Craig  took  in  the  situation  with  an  amused 
smile,  and  coolly  going  to  Jane's  dressing- 
room,  knocked  on  the  door.  Marie  opened  it, 

361 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

smiled  at  Craig  shrewdly,  and  went  out  as  he 
came  in.  Jane  looked  up  from  her  dressing- 
table,  and  involuntarily  shrank  away. 

"Craig!     Don't!"  she  said. 

"  Hush !  "  he  warned  quickly.  "  I  'm  not 
coming  to  do  any  passionate  pleading,  I 
know  there's  no  use.  I  want  you  to  look  at 
this." 

It  was  a  slip  of  yellow  paper  that  he  held 
out.  Jane  stared  at  it,  and  then  at  him.  The 
curiosity  of  Eve  got  the  better  of  her. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"  Read,"  answered  Craig,  handing  it  to 
her.  It  was  a  telegraph  form,  addressed  to 
Bryce. 

"  '  Come  to  me.  I  need  you.  Jane.'  "  —  she 
read  under  her  breath.  "  You  were  going  to 
send  this?  Oh,  Craig!" 

He  smiled  a  little,  and  lighted  his  inevitable 
cigarette,  with  a  look  of  asking  permission, 
which  she  as  tacitly  granted. 

"  Come !  "  he  said,  with  a  whiff.  "  I  'm  not 
362 


THE   ROAD    TO    ROME 

such  a  devil,  with  horns,  hoofs  and  tail,  as 
you  seem  to  think.  After  all,  I  'm  only  human, 
Jane.  Grant  me  a  little  decency." 

"  You  were  going  to  send  it !  "  she  repeated. 
"Were  you?" 

He  nodded.     "  If  you  like." 

She  looked  at  him,  not  quite  sure,  and  then, 
suddenly  piqued,  she  said,  "  You  seem  to  find 
it  easy." 

He  bent  forward  with  a  sudden  swift  lithe- 
ness  like  a  striking  snake,  and  his  eyes  fastened 
intensely  upon  hers. 

"  Easy !  "  he  said,  a  grating  note  in  his  voice. 
"  Be  careful,  Jane." 

Once  he  showed  signs  of  advance,  she  was 
instantly  on  the  defensive  again.  She  did  not 
want  Bryce  to  receive  any  such  wire.  It  would 
be  much  better  to  tell  him;  and  then,  besides, 
there  was  —  well,  there  was  all  the  worry  it 
would  involve  for  him.  Besides,  too,  Bryce 
was  probably  busy,  and  could  not  get  away, 
she  said  to  herself.  One  thing  was  sure,  she 

363 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

did  not,  right  or  wrong,  reasonably  or  unrea- 
sonably, want  Bryce  arriving  on  the  scene 
with  things  as  they  were  at  present,  and 
she  did  not  stop  to  analyze  any  further.  She 
laid  down  the  property  dagger  with  which 
she  had  been  playing  and  turned  directly  on 
Craig. 

"  It 's  fine  of  you  to  think  of  it,"  she  began ; 
"  it 's  like  the  Craig  I  know,  and  I  shall 
never  forget  it.  But  —  you  must  n't  misun- 
derstand me  when  I  say  that  I  don't  think  it 
had  better  go." 

Craig  made  no  move,  but  watched  her  keenly. 
It  was  like  a  woman,  he  thought,  to  keep  still 
in  a  case  of  this  kind.  Was  that  what  Jane 
meant  to  do?  Was  there  perhaps  a  chance  of 
her  changing  her  mind? 

She  shook  her  head  as  if  in  answer  to  a 
direct  question. 

"  I  knew  you  would  misunderstand,"  she 
said  wearily.  "  There  's  nothing  in  it  for  you, 
Craig.  I  '11  have  to  stand  up  and  tell  all  about 

364 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

this,  and  I  don't  want  anything  more  to  tell 
than  has  happened  already.  But,  although  I 
appreciate  your  thinking  of  it,  and  being  cour- 
ageous enough  to  do  it,  I  'd  rather  make  my 
confession  in  my  own  way.  Now,  you  had 
better  go." 

For  an  instant  he  hesitated.  Then,  "  Good 
night,  Jane,"  he  said,  and  went. 

In  the  wings  the  following  night,  they  again 
waited  for  their  cues.  The  emotional  scene 
of  the  play  was  just  over,  and  both  still  vividly 
felt  the  touch  of  the  other. 

"  May  I  talk  to  you  for  one  moment,  alone?  " 
asked  Craig  in  a  low  tone. 

Jane  raised  her  eyes,  not  to  his,  only  to  his 
lower  lids,  as  she  did  when  she  was  supposed 
to  be  looking  at  him  in  the  play.  Then  her 
black  eyelashes  lowered,  taking  in  the  rest  of 
his  face  before  she  closed  her  eyes,  as  if  to 
shut  him  out  of  her  sight. 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"Only  a  moment,  wherever  you  say?" 
365 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

"  No." 

"  Must  I  tell  you  here,  in  view  of  any  one 
who  cares  to  notice  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Why?" 

"You  ask?" 

Craig's  hands  tightened  upon  his  costume 
hat.  *  You  are  right.  It  was  just  to  tell  you, 
Jane,  that  I  have  given  notice  —  I  leave  in  two 
weeks." 

Jane  shivered.     "  I,  too,  have  given  notice." 

Glance  met  glance,  straight  this  time,  steady, 
unflinching. 

"  No,"  said  Craig,  "  it  is  Gordon's  play.  You 
must  remain." 

He  was  right ;  she  dared  not  go. 

For  two  more  weeks  they  acted  together, 
getting  their  interpretations  across  the  foot- 
lights on  the  strength  of  cold,  calculating  tech- 
nique alone.  For  two  weeks  Jane  rehearsed 
"  The  Fire  Opal "  with  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany for  the  instruction  of  the  newly  engaged 

366 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

actor  who  had  come  to  take  Craig's  place. 
Then  finally,  on  a  Wednesday  night,  came 
Craig's  last  performance.  There  was  no  cal- 
culating technique  about  that.  The  knowledge 
that  he  was  about  to  lose  her  moved  him  power- 
fully, shocked  him  for  once  out  of  his  indolent 
ways,  and  with  Jane  to  play  up  to,  he  put  a 
fire  into  his  performance  that  would  have 
startled  Gaston  into  a  new  idea  of  his  reliable 
leading  man. 

Jane,  for  her  part,  was  equally  aroused.  It 
was  undeniable  that  they  struck  fire  from  each 
other,  and  to-night,  although  the  Jane  who 
watched  her  playing  counterpart  from  above 
felt  her  mastery  of  the  situation,  the  Jane  who 
played  the  Fire  Opal  let  herself  go. 

When  the  last  curtain  had  fallen,  sending 
home  men  and  women  uncannily  moved,  ex- 
traordinarily impressed,  Craig  and  Jane  met 
off  stage.  Their  performance  had  unnerved 
them.  Tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks 
in  rivulets  of  kohl  and  rouge,  and  his  eyes  were 

367" 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

unnaturally  bright.  Jane  extended  a  hand 
cold  as  ice,  that  was  swallowed  up  in  his 
hot  palm. 

"  Good-by,"  she  whispered.  "  Good-by  — 
dear." 

He  gripped  her  hands  with  a  powerful  clasp, 
wondering  if  they  would  ever  stand  together 
like  that  again.  Was  it  really  possible  they 
might  never  meet  again ! 

"  No,  no,"  she  breathed,  striving  to  draw 
away.  "  Please !  "  They  were  in  the  shadow 
of  some  property  palms,  and  Craig  leaned  for- 
ward hotly. 

"  Kiss  me,  Jane,  kiss  me !  I  can't  go  away 
without  it.  ...  I  won't  hurt  you,  girl!  I 
must  .  .  .  Ah,  come  to  me,  just  once  for 
good-by." 

But  he  was  too  late.  Emotions  were  under 
control  in  Jane,  and  duty  was  very  clear  be- 
fore her  eyes.  She  held  him  off  with  warding 
hands,  and  a  scene-shifter  came  upon  them 
with  a  "  Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Greene  wants  them 

368 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

palms."    Jane  blessed  him,  and  fled,  she  knew 
not  how. 

The  motto  of  Blanquette  de  Veau  became 
hers  in  the  succeeding  days.  "  Life  's  hard, 
is  it  not,  Messieurs  ?  "  She  went  on  living, 
although  she  sometimes  wondered  if  her  heart 
had  not  stopped  beating.  Listlessly  she  went 
through  the  routine  of  her  work,  striving  night 
after  night  to  gain  respite  from  suffering  in 
sleep.  Craig  still  haunted  her  body,  but  as  the 
days  went  by  she  found  herself  feeling  less 
keenly,  often  forgetting  him  for  hours  together, 
and  realizing  only  a  dull,  unrecognizable  ache. 
Curiously  enough,  it  was  Bryce  whose  image 
was  before  her  mind  more  often  now,  and  she 
caught  herself  contrasting  his  unselfishness 
and  tenderness  with  Craig's  vivid  passion,  until 
she  grew  to  have  a  horror  of  what  had  been 
for  the  hour  so  recklessly  sweet.  Breathlessly 
she  struggled  to  analyze  herself,  and  failed.  In 
her  heart  was  only  a  baffling  mystery,  a  mys- 
tery that  pained. 

369 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

The  box  office,  however,  continued  to  sell 
tickets,  and  there  were  people  who  still  de- 
manded entertainment ;  there  were  theaters  all 
over  the  country  crying  for  bookings,  and  Chi- 
cago was  asking  for  "  The  Fire  Opal."  Gas- 
ton  had  been  waiting  for  the  opportunity. 

The  bulletin  notice  of  the  new  booking 
shocked  Jane  into  action.  Chicago!  Her 
family,  her  friends!  She  must  put  new  life 
into  her  part,  must  show  them  that  Bryce's 
play  was  a  great  play  and  she  was  a  true 
actress.  Gaston  and  Bryce  were  to  meet 
the  company  there,  and  she  must  not  disap- 
point them.  It  gave  her  something  to  work 
for,  and  dragged  her  mind  away  from  her 
brooding. 

Her  coming  was  heralded  in  all  the  news- 
papers, invitations  piled  up  in  the  Chicago  the- 
ater ;  there  was  a  note  from  Mrs.  Van  Mueller, 
asking  when  she  might  give  a  reception  in 
Jane's  honor,  and  a  letter  from  her  mother 
asking  Jane  to  live  at  home. 

370 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

Home !  Jane  read  the  note  over  half  a  dozen 
times  with  an  expression  in  her  eyes  that  was 
almost  cynical.  Forgiveness  would  have  meant 
so  much  to  her  a  few  months  ago;  now  it 
hardly  stirred  her.  They  had  said  no  word 
when  she  and  Bryce  had  failed,  but  now  that 
she  was  successful,  now  that  the  world  was 
at  her  feet,  they,  too,  were  ready  to  bow.  The 
irony  of  success  cut  Jane  like  a  lash. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  no  one  knew 
that  "  The  Fire  Opal "  company  had  slipped 
into  town.  Gaston  and  Bryce  were  to  arrive 
Sunday  morning.  Jane  had  the  day  to  herself, 
and  laying  the  notes  down,  she  ordered  a  taxi, 
and  sent  for  Ludwig  Darenbeck.  Of  all  Chi- 
cago, she  thought  to  herself  bitterly,  his  was 
the  one  face  she  cared  to  see  again. 

He  came  post  haste,  both  hands  out,  his  big 
voice  hearty  with  welcome. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  he  greeted  warmly. 
"  Welcome  home.  Indeed,  we  have  grown  up 
in  this  year  of  ours,  have  we  not?" 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

He  held  her  hands  for  a  moment,  searching 
her  face  gravely. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  said  gently.  "  Very  much 
older,  wiser,  —  happier,  too,  is  it  not  so?" 

"I  —  I  don't  know,"  Jane  said  slowly.  "  But 
at  least  I  am  glad  it  has  all  happened.  How 
has  it  gone  with  you?" 

She  hardly  needed  to  ask.  Darenbeck  was 
very  evidently  happy.  His  clothes  were  well- 
made  and  well-kept,  Jane  noted;  his  manner 
the  manner  of  one  with  an  assured  position 
in  the  world.  He  was  no  longer  thin,  and  his 
eyes  smiled.  The  German  was  almost  entirely 
gone  from  his  speech,  though  he  still  had  a 
foreign  air  that  now  appeared  rather  distin- 
guished. At  her  question  he  nodded  with 
satisfaction. 

'  You  were  my  good  luck,  the  turning  of  my 
tide,"  he  said  cheerily.  "  My  symphony  —  your 
symphony,  too,  you  remember  —  came  to  the 
Herr  Direktor's  eyes,  and  he  found  it  good. 
He  has  it;  it  is  to  be  played  at  your  Ravinia 

372 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

Park.  I  teach  now;  I  have  fine  pupils.  One 
boy,  he  plays  —  ach,  beautifully !  it  is  a  pleas- 
ure to  teach  him.  He  will  be  a  great  man  one 
of  these  days  and  all  the  world  will  flock  to 
hear  him.  They  are  all  good  boys,  and  it  is 
pleasant  to  see  them  so  earnest,  so  eager; 
it  is  like  the  old  country." 

"  And  Mrs.  Darenbeck  —  she  is  well  ?  " 
"  But  you  should  see !  She  has  her  garden 
and  her  chickens,  and  the  children  they  go  to 
school.  Little  Ludwig  is  in  the  kindergarten, 
and  brings  home  —  ach,  such  puzzles  to  make 
his  father  scratch  the  head!  We  have  never 
been  so  happy  since  we  were  in  the  Fatherland. 
There  is  but  one  thing:  if  my  symphony  shall 
be  played  while  you  are  still  here,  and  we  both 
go  and  hear  it  together,  then  shall  I  ask  for 


no  more." 


He  beamed  at  Jane  contentedly,  and  she 
smiled  back  with  a  freedom  and  peace  that  she 
had  not  felt  for  weeks.  For  the  moment  she 
forgot  to  analyze,  forgot  to  remember,  forgot 

373 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

everything  in  the  sane,  sensible,  sunny  person- 
ality of  this  big  man  who  had  gone  through 
a  life  harder  than  anything  she  had  ever  known 
and  taken  it  all  as  simply  as  the  grass  takes 
sunshine  and  rain. 

"  I  have  a  taxi  here,"  she  told  him.  "  I 
wanted  to  see  the  world  again.  Will  you 
come  with  me?  I  have  a  lot  of  things  to  tell 
you." 

'  With  pleasure,"  he  said.  "  It  is  Saturday 
—  I  am  out  of  school,  too." 

The  big,  purring  six-cylinder  spun  down  the 
smooth  asphalt  of  Michigan  Avenue,  jolted 
through  the  tangle  of  trucks  at  the  rickety  old 
Rush  Street  bridge,  felt  its  way  among  the 
warehouses  beyond  the  river,  and,  picking  up 
the  Lake  Shore  Drive  in  Streeterville,  settled 
down  to  a  steady  fifteen  miles  an  hour  over 
the  oiled  road.  For  awhile  both  Jane  and 
Darenbeck  were  silent,  feeling  the  fresh  air 
on  their  faces,  and  watching  the  sail-dashed 
lake,  for  there  was  a  fresh  wind,  and  the  big 

374 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

yachts  from  the  basin  were  scattered  along  the 
skyline  with  a  host  of  smaller  craft  hanging 
on  their  heels. 

Presently  they  passed  the  Carrington  man- 
sion, and  Jane  felt  a  throb  of  pain.  There 
was  no  one  in  sight,  but  the  familiar  green 
awnings  were  up,  the  familiar  collie  asleep 
under  the  porte-cochere.  Jane  wanted  to 
whistle  to  Laddie.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were 
just  coming  home  from  school,  and  in  a  minute 
would  run  up  the  back  steps  to  forage  in  the 
kitchen  for  Sheila's  cookies.  But  they  passed 
in  the  flash  of  an  eye,  and  Laddie  still  slept, 
the  old  front  door  remained  closed.  She  sighed 
unconsciously,  and  Darenbeck,  stirred  by  the 
slight  sound,  turned  with  a  smile. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  tell  me  how  it  is 
you  make  the  great  success  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I 
see  the  papers,  yes.  I  hear  the  talk,  yes.  I 
know  nothing.  How  did  it  come  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  myself,"  said  Jane,  hesitat- 
ingly. "  It  was  n't  all  fun  at  first.  I  came 

375 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

very  near  starving  for  awhile,  and  I  thought 
it  was  all  up  with  me  once.  You  know  all 
about  that."  She  glanced  at  him,  wondering 
if  he  had  ever  thought  of  putting  out  the  gas, 
and  he  nodded. 

"  Ach,  ja !  "  he  laughed.  "  Once,  I  was  so 
foolish  —  so  young  —  I  went  and  I  looked  at 
the  river.  He  was  black  down  there  —  b-r-r-r ! 
he  was  cold.  I  was  cold  too,  and  I  had  no 
wish  to  be  colder.  So  I  went  back  to  a  res- 
taurant and  played  the  fiddle  three  hours  for 
my  dinner;  after  that  I  looked  at  the  river 
no  more.  Ja,  ja,  I,  too,  have  been  young,  and 
hungry.  And  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  discovered  that  Broadway  and 
Fifth  Avenue  are  leagues  apart;  and  for  a 
time  I  believed  myself  the  unhappy  heroine  in  a 
thrilling  melodrama,  until  I  met  Mr.  Gordon  — 
and  we  were  married  —  and  —  well,  one  of  his 
plays  was  accepted  by  Mr.  Gaston,  and  I  was 
given  the  lead,  and  he  did  everything  for  me 
—  oh,  there  's  nobody  like  Mr.  Gaston  —  and 

376 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

the  play  was  a  success,  and  before  I  knew  it 
things  were  going  well." 

Somehow  it  was  not  so  easy  to  tell  Daren- 
beck  things  as  Jane  had  thought  it  would  be. 
She  had  been  eager  to  talk  awhile  ago,  and 
now  she  could  give  only  a  bald,  bare  recital 
of  facts.  He  looked  out  at  the  lake  again, 
and  puckered  his  forehead  uneasily. 

"And  you  are  happy?"  he  said  again. 
"You  do  not  regret  it?" 

'  Yes,"  said  Jane  slowly,  "  I  am  glad  I  went. 
But  there  are  so  many  problems  to  solve." 

He  nodded  soberly.  "  You  must  solve  them 
for  yourself  now,"  he  said.  "  It  is  no  longer 
the  scholar;  it  is  the  woman  whom  only  life 
can  teach.  And  there  is  the  satisfaction  that 
life  is  like  scales;  each  one  learned  makes  that 
you  learn  the  next  easier.  Is  it  not?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  have  n't  got  far  enough  in 
the  exercise-book  to  know  yet,"  said  Jane  with 
a  ghost  of  a  smile.  "  I  'm  still  at  the  five- 
fingers,  and  I  play  them  just  as  badly  as  I 

377 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

used  to  when  I  was  nine.  Poor  Mademoiselle 
Perette !  I  'm  afraid  she  wept  many  tears  over 
me.  In  those  days,  I  resented  the  piano 
bitterly." 

'  You  should  see  how  fierce  I  am  to  my 
little  violin-boys,"  he  answered,  quickly  pick- 
ing up  the  change  of  key.  "  I  growl  at  them 
so  fierce  when  they  do  not  play  right,  and  they 
think  I  am  a  great  bear.  But  inside  I  growl 
not  at  all.  It  is  only  that  they  must  learn." 

"  The  genius,  too  ?  " 

"  Ach,  no !  It  is  always  '  go  softly,  Jan/ 
'  practice  not  so  much,  Jan,'  '  rest  thee,  go  and 
play.'  He  would  work  himself  to  death  if 
I  would  let  him,  he  loves  the  music  so  dearly. 
And  now,  Madame,  will  you  of  your  goodness 
bid  your  chauffeur  turn  down  this  little  street? 
If  that  you  will  eat  supper  with  Minna  and 
me,  I  shall  be  proud.  We  are  simple  folk  — 
but  there  is  always  welcome  for  you." 

The  kindly  sincerity  of  the  invitation  touched 
Jane,  as  Mrs.  Van  Mueller's  cordial  note 

378 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

and  her  mother's  urgent  invitation  had  failed 
to  do. 

"  I  should  love  to,"  she  said,  with  unmistak- 
able sincerity.  "  I  hated  the  thought  of  re- 
turning to  the  hotel,  and  there  is  nothing  I 
should  enjoy  more  than  meeting  Mrs.  Daren- 
beck  and  the  babies.  How  many  are  there, 
and  what  are  their  names  ?  Do  you  think  they 
will  be  afraid  of  me?" 

"  Perhaps  a  little  shy  at  first.  We  see  few 
strangers.  But  they  will  come  to  you,  never 
fear." 

The  house  was  a  small  cottage  in  the  midst 
of  a  garden  well  laid  out  for  vegetables 
and  flowers.  Frau  Darenbeck  was  a  warm- 
hearted, motherly  woman,  who  knew  all  about 
Jane  from  Ludwig,  and  seeing  her  tired, 
strained  look,  instantly  took  her  into  her  arms, 
and  gave  her  a  generous  kiss,  and  a  welcome 
that  was  sweeter  to  Jane  than  a  city's  applause. 
In  a  trice,  she  was  established  in  a  broad-backed 
German  chair,  with  a  cushion  behind  her,  a 

379 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

glass  of  cordial  in  her  hand,  and  a  small  tow- 
haired  two-year-old  with  his  thumb  in  his 
mouth  making  doubtful  overtures  to  her  from 
the  shelter  of  a  chenille  table-cover. 

"  My  Ludwig,  he  says  he  owes  much  to 
you,  Mees  Jane,"  affirmed  Frau  Darenbeck 
warmly.  "  Ach,  such  times  when  we  first 
came  to  this  America.  He  put  away  his  sym- 
phony, and  said  he  could  write  no  more ;  there 
were  no  artists  in  America,  and  no  music  fit 
to  play  to  a  sick  cat.  When  he  went  to  that 
Schloss  Van  Mueller,  I  knew  not  where  to 
turn ;  but  he  came  back  with  his  eyes  all  bright, 
and  he  say,  '  Minna,  liebes  Herz,  wo  ist  meine 
Symphonic  ?  Nun  schreibe  ich ! '  And  I  get 
it  and  he  play  and  he  write  like  a  crazy  man. 
And  I  work  and  I  make  the  ends  meet,  as  you 
say  here,  and  when  it  is  done  —  ach,  der  Herr 
Direktor  he  say  it  is  the  work  of  a  master  — 
ja,  and  he  hear  Ludwig  play,  and  he  get  him 
the  pupils,  and  he  took  his  music,  and  it  is  all 
you,  who  gave  him  back  the  Schafifensdrang, 

380 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

and  made  him  compose  again.  Long  have 
I  had  the  wish  to  thank  you,  and  every 
night  I  have  put  you  in  my  prayers  along 
with  Ludwig  and  the  Kinder  and  the  old 
folks  in  Deutschland.  It  is  good  that  you 
are  here." 

She  patted  Jane  on  the  shoulder  with  a  com- 
forting hand. 

"  Nun,  I  go  to  the  kitchen  and  make  supper. 
Heinrich,  come  thou  and  show  the  lady  thy 
picture-book."  And  with  that  she  disappeared 
in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen,  whence  arose 
promptly  the  brisk  clatter  of  tins  and  the  odor 
of  coffee. 

Jane  made  friends  with  Heinrich,  and  pres- 
ently with  Ludwig  and  wee  Minna,  so  that 
Darenbeck,  coming  suddenly  into  the  room, 
discovered  them  all  on  the  floor,  where  Ludwig 
of  the  kindergarten  was  teaching  her  the  in- 
tricacies of  pease-porridge-hot  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  much  laughter.  Jane  looked  ten 
years  younger  than  she  had  an  hour  ago,  and 

381 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Darenbeck,  getting  down  on  the  floor  too  with 
the  ease  of  long  familiarity,  joined  the  pease- 
porridge-hot  class  with  enthusiasm,  although 
he  insisted  on  reciting  the  rhyme  in  German, 
to  the  open  delight  of  the  junior  Ludwig  and 
the  confusion  of  Jane. 

From  this  diversion  Frau  Darenbeck  rescued 
them  with  a  call  to  a  very  appetizing  supper, 
and  after  the  meal,  when  the  children  were  put 
to  bed,  Jane  helped  in  unfamiliar  delight  with 
buttons  and  Nachthosen. 

"  I  never  knew  they  were  so  pretty  when 
they  were  undressed,"  she  said  to  Frau  Daren- 
beck,  as  she  lifted  Minna  out  of  the  tub,  wrig- 
gling. "  Bless  you,  honey,  you  must  n't  eat 
the  whole  wash-rag.  Lie  still  on  the  bath- 
towel,  and  I  '11  tell  you  about  '  this  little  pig 
went  to  market.' ' 

At  last  they  were  all  in  bed,  the  last  prayer 
said,  the  last  drink  of  water  administered,  the 
last  story  told,  and  Jane  bethought  her  that  it 
was  miles  back  to  Michigan  Avenue. 

382 


THE   ROAD    TO    ROME 

"  Truly  I  must  go,"  she  said,  as  they  pro- 
tested. "  You  don't  know  how  much  good  this 
has  done  me,  or  how  grateful  I  am  to  you  and 
Herr  Darenbeck.  I  shall  remember  this  even- 
ing always,  and  if  I  may,  I  want  to  come 
again." 

They  went  to  the  gate  with  her  and  helped 
her  into  the  automobile,  tucking  her  up  warmly 
against  the  cool  night  air,  and  urging  her  with 
German  hospitality  to  come  again.  The  big 
car  felt  its  way  up  the  quiet  lane,  and  turned 
into  Sheridan  Road,  its  strong  lights  piercing 
the  dark  night.  Jane  waved  a  last  good-by, 
and  was  gone. 

"  She  has  the  sad  eyes,  Ludwig,"  said  Frau 
Darenbeck,  walking  up  the  path  with  her  hus- 
band's arm  about  her.  "  It 's  a  pity  that  she 
has  no  children." 

Speeding  back  to  town  through  the  quiet 
North  Shore,  Jane  stared  wide-eyed  into  the 
night,  feeling  again  the  weight  of  little  Minna 
on  her  breast,  the  touch  of  the  soft  baby  hands 

383 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

on  her  face.  Somehow  since  she  had  seen  the 
contentment  of  the  Darenbecks  she  felt  that 
she  had  more  to  regret  than  she  had  realized, 
and  every  familiar  landmark  that  she  passed 
intensified  the  feeling.  Here  were  the  haunts 
of  Jane  Carrington,  the  girl;  here  she  had 
lived,  rebelled,  laughed,  suffered,  yearned  for 
fame.  The  same  Jane  had  not  returned;  it 
was  the  actress  enveloped  in  the  mantle  of  the 
theater,  colored  by  its  glamour,  seared  with  its 
memories,  corroded  with  its  emotions,  surfeited 
with  its  mockery  and  sham.  She  had  allowed 
the  theater  to  claim  her,  body  and  soul,  she 
thought;  she  was  just  beginning  to  understand 
fully  what  Craig  had  called  lightly  its  ruinous 
fever,  and  to  realize  that  although  she  had 
played  life  like  a  character  part,  there  had 
come  a  time  when  she  must  wash  off  her 
make-up  and  show  the  self  that  lay  beneath, 
unpainted  and  unadorned.  Bryce  was  com- 
ing to-morrow  —  and  to-morrow  Bryce  must 
know. 

384 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

After  that  —  what?  Jane  did  not  know. 
Darenbeck  had  asked  her  if  she  were  happy. 
Happiness !  She  flung  the  word  from  her  bit- 
terly. It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  never 
before  known  pain. 


385 


CHAPTER   XVII 

Bryce  was  coming. 

Jane  woke  with  the  thought,  after  a  few 
hours  of  exhausted  sleep.  Three  hours  more 
and  she  must  meet  his  gaze.  What  was  her 
life  to  be  after  that?  How  would  he  take  her 
confession?  Even  then,  on  the  train  speeding 
towards  Chicago,  Bryce  was  probably  thinking 
of  her  and  looking  forward  to  their  meeting. 
If  she  could  only  creep  into  his  gentle  protect- 
ing arms  once  more  and  let  the  trouble  of  ex- 
istence slip  from  her  wearied  shoulders,  she 
felt  that  she  would  never  want  to  move  again. 
Just  once  she  would  do  it,  she  argued  with 
herself,  —  just  once,  and  then  she  would  tell 
him  everything.  After  that  .  .  .  well,  she 
scarcely  clared  hope.  Heavily  she  rose,  dressed 

herself,  and  made  a  pretense  at  breakfast. 

386 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

As  the  train  pulled  into  the  steel-ribbed  sta- 
tion with  clangor  and  escaping  steam,  and  the 
long  vista  of  the  platform  became  crowded  with 
hurrying  figures,  Gaston  and  Bryce  came  to 
her,  the  former  travel-weary  but  benign,  the 
latter  with  eyes  only  for  one  figure  by  the  iron 
gates.  Jane  looked  at  him  as  at  a  stranger. 
This  straight,  slim  fellow  with  the  positive 
manner,  the  smiling  mouth  and  eyes,  the  air 
of  success  in  the  very  cut  of  his  clothes  — 
was  this  Bryce  Gordon? 

'*  Jane !  "  he  said  simply. 

She  clung  to  him  like  a  child.  The  time 
might  be  so  short.  As  for  Bryce,  he  was  glad 
to  have  her  cling  to  him,  glad  of  her  beauty 
and  her  weight  on  his  arm,  at  peace  with  the 
world.  If  he  noticed  that  she  was  by  turns 
full  of  inconsequent  chatter  and  strangely 
silent,  he  made  no  sign.  But  when  they  reached 
their  rooms,  he  held  her  at  arm's  length  and 
scrutinized  her  with  the  eyes  of  a  man  for 
whom  there  is  but  one  woman. 

387 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

'  What  have  they  been  doing  to  you,  Jane?  " 
he  said  with  half  playful  tenderness.  '  Your 
mouth  is  down  at  the  corners,  and  your  eyes 
—  why,  little  girl ! "  For  her  eyes  had  sud- 
denly helplessly  filled  with  tears. 

For  a  moment  she  laid  her  face  on  his  shoul- 
der, unconsciously  noting  the  familiar  scent  of 
tobacco,  and  then  gently  pushed  him  away. 
She  had  no  right  there  —  now. 

"  I  Ve  something  to  tell  you,  Bryce,"  she 
said  gravely.  "  It 's  not  easy.  Suppose  we 
sit  down." 

He  placed  a  chair  by  the  table,  and  sat  down 
facing  her. 

"  Well,  what 's  the  Golden  Text?  "  he  began, 
trying  to  break  the  tension,  but  she  shook  her 
head  with  a  wan  attempt  at  a  smile. 

"  Bryce,  do  you  love  me?  " 

"  My  dear ! "  He  made  a  movement  as  if 
to  gather  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  put  up  a 
warding  hand. 

"  Very  much?     Enough  to  —  forgive?  " 
388 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

"Forgive?"  His  face  changed,  lines  set- 
tling about  the  mouth.  "  Forgive  what  ?  " 

She  shrank  and  shook  her  head. 

"Ah,  I  knew  it.  ...  But  I  must  tell  you. 
I  can't  be  with  you  and  keep  it  hidden.  .  .  . 
They  say  a  woman  ought  never  to  tell  the  truth 
to  a  man.  .  .  .  Bryce,  whatever  comes,  I  want 
you  to  remember  I  Ve  always  told  you  the 
truth." 

"  Of  course  you  have,  Jane.  That  is  one  of 
the  reasons  why  you  're  such  a  good  scout. 
You  never  dodge.  Now,  little  girl,  out  with 
it.  Tell  me  what 's  wrong."  His  voice  was 
easy,  gentle,  but  his  eyes  roved  anxiously  over 
her,  and  the  muscles  at  the  angle  of  his  jaw 
bulged  ever  so  slightly. 

(<  I  wish  I  'd  waited  till  after  dark.  It  would 
have  been  easier,  I  think.  .  .  .  Well,  I  Ve  been 
lonely.  It 's  been  months  since  I  Ve  had  any 
home  but  my  trunk,  any  human  being  I  could 
call  my  friend.  If  you  'd  come  with  me  —  but 
you  were  a  thousand  miles  off,  and  one  can't 

389 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

exist  on  letters.  At  least  they  're  pretty  cold 
comfort,  when  you  want  some  one  that 's  real 
and  breathing.  You  know  ?  " 

He  nodded.     "  I  know." 

"  I  was  starved  —  hungry  for  a  word,  a 
look,  a  little  bit  of  petting.  .  .  .  What  did  you 
do  Christmas  Day?" 

"  I  was  at  the  Schuylers',  knee-deep  in  chil- 
dren and  Teddy-bears." 

"  I  was  in  San  Francisco,  all  soul  alone.  It 
was  gray  as  dish-water.  Nobody  invited  me 
to  have  so  much  as  a  cup  of  tea.  One  gets 
tired  on  tour  —  blue,  miserable,  desolate.  I 
was  all  of  that.  I  was  a  fool,  Bryce.  But  — 
I  suppose  everybody  has  an  hour  between  the 
devil  and  the  deep  sea.  I  had  mine  then." 

'  Who  was  he?  "    The  voice  was  very  quiet. 

"  Is  that  necessary?  " 

"Who  was  he?  "  This  time  it  was  a  com- 
mand. 

"  Craig,"  said  Jane,  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Ah!" 

390 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  faced  him. 

"  It  is  n't  what  you  think  —  it  is  n't,  it  is  n't ! 
Believe  me !  We  did  n't  go  over  the  edge. 
Bryce !  If  I  ever  told  you  the  truth  I  'm  tell- 
ing it  now.  I  'd  fought  it  unconsciously  for 
a  long  time  —  not  love,  but  a  sort  of  crazy 
attraction  —  and  it  had  worn  me  out.  And 
we  had  good  friendly  times  together,  and  there 
was  n't  any  one  else  who  talked  my  language, 
and  —  well,  it  was  all  so  new  that  I  did  n't 
see  where  it  was  leading.  Self-control  under 
stress  —  don't  I  deserve  a  rag  of  credit  for 
that?" 

'  Just  what  do  you  mean  by  '  not  going  over 
the  edge'?" 

"Why  — that  I  didn't  — no,  I  mean  that 
he  kissed  me  —  that  I  kissed  him  —  that  I  felt 
when  he  was  near,  was  attracted  —  oh,  I  'm 
ashamed!  —  but  no  more.  Oh,  Bryce,  why 
did  n't  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

"Would  that  have  helped?" 

"  Yes !  "    Jane's  face  was  hidden  again.    "  I 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

think  it  would,  I  'm  sure  it  would ;  when  I 
was  alone  you  seemed  so  very  far  away;  it 
was  n't  so  much  that  I  forgot  myself  —  as  that 
I  forgot  —  you,  and  now,  oh,  Bryce  —  I  'm 
miserable ! " 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  room.  Slowly 
Bryce  rose,  and  parting  the  flimsy  curtains 
gazed  down  on  the  gay  Roman  ribbon  of 
Michigan  Avenue,  the  only  highway  of  its 
kind  in  the  world.  Like  shining  beetles  the 
automobiles  flashed  and  darted  on  the  dark 
pavement ;  like  a  patterned  border  the  women's 
dresses  starred  the  sidewalk  —  cerise,  violet, 
blue.  Often  Bryce  had  looked  upon  the  pag- 
eant and  wondered  what  was  behind  the 
bright  eyes  that  passed  without  a  glance  for 
the  shabby  author,  under  the  stylish  corsages, 
where,  pinned  among  the  furs,  lay  an  orchid 
that  cost  more  than  his  day's  meals.  Heart- 
aches were  indecent  as  bodies  down  there, 
things  to  be  padded  and  stitched  and  altered 
out  of  recognition  by  one's  tailor.  He  had 

392 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

thought  Jane  different  from  other  women.  He 
slowly  drew  a  deep  breath  and  exhaled  it  sound- 
lessly. The  illusion  that  had  made  life  sweet 
was  gone. 

As  for  Jane,  she  sat  by  the  table  and  looked 
dumbly  at  his  straight  back.  It  was  no  longer 
Jane  the  actress;  it  was  Jane  the  woman  who 
had  come  to  life,  a  Jane  who  cared  no  longer 
whether  she  played  her  puppets  well  or  ill, 
but  only  a  primitive  woman  calling  for  her 
mate  and  her  life.  She  knew  now  where  her 
pathway  led,  she  said  to  herself,  now  that  it 
was  perhaps  too  late. 

Bryce  at  the  window  absently  lighted  a 
cigarette,  and  she  noted  with  a  pang  that  he 
did  not  ask  her  permission.  But  he  could  not 
smoke,  —  his  throat  was  too  dry,  —  and  he 
turned  to  meet  her  pleading,  wistful  eyes. 
There  was  no  answer  in  his  own,  and  she 
shrank  into  herself. 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  tell  me?  "  he  asked 
dryly. 

393 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

She  nodded  —  she  did  not  dare  to  speak. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  We 
don't  want  to  have  any  left-overs  in  this.  Is 
there  anything  you  want  to  tell  me  about  your- 
self, leaving  Craig  out  of  it  ?  " 

She  was  silent,  and  he  took  it  for  coldness. 
Carefully  he  laid  down  the  cigarette,  not  no- 
ticing that  it  had  gone  out. 

"  For  instance,"  he  suggested,  "  what  do  you 
intend  to  do  now  ?  " 

"I  —  I  have  made  no  plans." 

"  You  intend,  therefore,  to  go  on  as  before? 
To  live  as  we've  been  doing?" 

"  No." 

"Divorce,  then?" 

Her  look  was  answer  enough.  Jane  had 
been  taught  to  regard  divorce  as  anathema. 

"  You  prefer  separation  ?  " 

She  sat  quiet,  with  lids  dropped.  Suddenly 
Bryce's  hard-held  control  snapped. 

"What  do  you  want,  then?"  he  blazed  at 
her.  "  If  you  've  stopped  what  you  've  been 

394 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

pleased  to  call  caring  for  me,  do  you  want  to 
go  on  with  this  pretense  of  a  marriage  we  Ve 
been  putting  up?  Or  do  you  want  your  free- 
dom ?  You  know,  of  course,  that  Craig 's 
married  and  supposed  to  be  devoted  to  his 
wife?" 

She  laid  her  cheek  on  her  outstretched  arm, 
like  a  weary  child,  and  shut  her  eyes.  She 
was  very  tired. 

"  I  don't  want  anything,  Bryce,"  she  said 
with  an  effort.  "  I  had  hoped  that  I  might  — 
that  —  but  never  mind  now.  You  are  quite 
right  to  cast  me  off,  I  know.  Just  do  what 
suits  yourself.  .  .  .  I  'm  sorry  I  Ve  made  such 
a  mess  of  your  life." 

He  stared  at  her,  sudden  pity  welling  up  in 
him,  and  some  strange  sweet  emotion,  that  at 
the  moment  he  could  not  define. 

"You  hoped  what,  Jane?"  he  asked.  His 
voice  was  cool.  "What  did  you  mean?" 

"  I  —  I  —  "  The  hand  that  had  hung  limp 
at  her  side  came  up  to  hide  her  face  now,  and 

395 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

when  she  spoke  it  was  with  a  choked  and 
uneven  voice  that  he  hardly  recognized.  "  I 
hoped  that  —  that  maybe  you  'd  let  me  tell  you 
I  'd  learned  —  to  love  you  at  last." 

"Yes?"  he  said  evenly,  and  for  an  instant 
he  stood  looking  at  her  bent  head.  In  that 
instant  it  flashed  clearly  upon  him  that  on  his 
next  sentence  depended  their  whole  future  re- 
lations, and  he  smiled  with  a  quiet  bitterness 
sadder  than  tears.  The  goddess  he  had  fash- 
ioned out  of  his  dreams  had  crashed  to  earth, 
and  in  her  stead  was  left  only  a  woman,  whom 
he  loved  most  deeply  in  spite  of  her  folly,  but 
who  had  failed  pitifully  to  fill  that  heroic 
mould.  He  had  learned  a  great  deal  in  the 
last  few  minutes,  and  that  knowledge  was  re- 
flected in  his  voice  when  he  spoke.  "  A  little 
late,  are  n't  you  ?  " 

Jane  said  nothing,  but  kept  her  face  hidden 
miserably  in  her  hands.  It  was  very  evidently 
a  new  Bryce  that  had  come  to  Chicago,  a 
Bryce  that  no  longer  needed  her,  no  longer 

396 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

hung  upon  her  words.  She  had  always  felt 
a  sort  of  protecting  maternalism  where  he  was 
concerned,  and  now  he  was  suddenly  stronger 
than  she,  coolly  independent  of  her,  apparently 
not  at  all  moved  by  either  her  confession  or 
her  love.  She  felt  like  a  mother  whose  son 
has  suddenly  come  back  from  college  a  head 
taller  than  she  and  quite  capable  of  managing 
his  own  affairs.  What  had  happened?  Was 
it  merely  that  he  had  learned  to  do  without 
her  now  that  he  was  so  successful,  or  had 
she  by  her  folly  lost  him  forever?  A  month 
ago,  she  knew,  he  would  have  sold  his  soul  to 
hear  her  say  she  loved  him  with  real  truth 
in  her  voice.  Now  it  seemed  to  leave  him 
unmoved,  and  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was 
stronger  than  she  came  a  recognition  of  his 
power  that  she  felt  and  of  necessity  bent  be- 
fore. Their  positions  with  relation  to  each 
other  had  executed  a  volte-face. 

"Well,  anyway,  I  told  you  the  truth  about 
it,"   she  said.     "  And  —  and  I   do  love  you, 

397 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Bryce.  Craig  took  me  by  surprise,  or  I  'd 
never  have  —  " 

"  I  '11  settle  with  Craig  later,"  he  said  briefly, 
cutting  her  short.  "If  you  want  to  stay  by 
the  ship,  and  obey  orders,  well  and  good.  If 
you  don't,  well  and  good  also.  Only  you  've 
got  to  decide  here  and  now  which  you  want 
to  do ;  and  once  decided,  you  've  got  to  stick 
by  your  decision.  Is  that  clear  ?  " 

"  Very,"  she  said.     "  I  '11  stay." 

"  And  obey  orders  ?  " 

She  hesitated  half  a  second.     "  Yes." 

"You're  quite  clear  on  that  point?" 

"  Yes." 

"  All  right.  Now  you  'd  better  go  and  lie 
down  before  rehearsal  and  see  if  you  can't 
make  your  eyes  look  natural.  I  don't  want 
people  to  think  I  Ve  been  beating  you.  I  Ve 
some  business  to  attend  to,  and  I  probably  shall 
not  be  back  until  dinner." 

Jane  gathered  herself  together  and  went. 
Bryce  on  his  part  left  the  hotel,  and  turning 

398 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

up  Michigan  Avenue  walked  miles  in  the 
fresh  wind,  taking  counsel  with  himself  and  a 
cigar. 

That  night  at  dinner  Jane  offered  to  leave 
the  stage.  It  was  her  last  card,  and  she  played 
it  hopefully,  expecting  to  see  his  eyes  light  up 
with  something  of  the  old  look.  Instead,  he 
took  another  olive  and  changed  the  subject. 

'  You  're  succeeding  very  well  now,"  he  said 
pleasantly.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  Gaston  has 
done  even  better  than  usual  with  '  Opal/  The 
houses  have  been  packed  everywhere,  haven't 
they?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jane  briefly,  choking  back  the 
tears. 

"  I  was  taking  up  my  new  play  with  him  on 
the  train,"  he  continued,  with  the  air  of  one 
imparting  politely  friendly  news.  "  It  seemed 
to  appeal  to  him,  and  as  soon  as  I  return  to 
New  York  I  shall  get  it  into  shape  for  him 
to  read." 

Jane  nodded  assent,  and  sipped  at  her  glass 
399 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

of  ice-water.  After  a  moment  she  returned 
to  her  attack. 

"  But  truly,  Bryce,  I  meant  it,"  she  said. 
"  I  want  to  leave  the  stage  and  try  to  make 
up  to  you  a  little.  I  —  " 

He  signaled  their  waiter,  without  appearing 
to  hear  her  remark,  and  asked  him  about  the 
wild  duck. 

"  You  '11  have  some,  won't  you  ?  "  he  asked 
her  with  courtesy.  "  I  understand  they  're  es- 
pecially good." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  presently  making 
an  excuse  left  the  table.  She  had  made  her 
play  and  lost,  and  in  the  seclusion  of  her  room 
she  gave  way  to  hysterical  tears. 


400 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

'''  I  just  received  a  wire  from  Craig,"  said 
Gaston  the  next  morning,  as  he  met  Jane  in 
the  theater  at  eleven  o'clock.  "  He  is  coming 
on  the  Flyer,  and  will  be  here  for  the  opening 
to-night.  What  possessed  the  fellow  to  throw 
up  his  part  in  California  and  chase  south  for 
his  health,  I  don't  know.  Sloane  can't  come  up 
to  him  in  it,  and  Greene  tells  me  his  acting  is  n't 
reliable.  Greene  was  a  fool  to  let  Craig  go; 
if  I  had  had  time  to  run  west,  I  could  have 
induced  him  to  stay.  But  with  all  the  compli- 
cations we  have  had  in  New  York  this  winter 
I  am  lucky  to  get  as  far  as  Chicago." 

"  I  think  your  going  west  would  not  have 
changed  matters,"  said  Jane  quietly.  '  When 
you  talk  to  the  company,  Mr.  Gaston,  you  wilt 

hear  rumors  about  Craig  —  and  me." 

401 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Gaston  shook  his  head  and  waved  his  hands 
in  careless  dissent. 

"  Pshaw !  Some  one  will  always  talk.  Craig 
was  too  good  a  player  to  lose.  He  came  into 
my  office  in  New  York  last  week,  with  his  usual 
debonair  way,  and  told  me  the  same  thing. 
Said  he  thought  he  had  to  get  out  to  make  it 
pleasant  for  you.  I  told  him  that  was  rot  — 
he  's  just  lazy  again.  I  'm  glad  he  's  coming 
to-night.  It  gives  me  another  chance  at  him." 

Jane  shrank.  Must  she  see  him  again? 
Why  was  he  coming  to-night?  Had  he  not 
spoiled  enough  —  her  innocence  —  Bryce's 
happiness;  if  he  came  to-night  might  he  not 
wreck  her  dream  of  reparation?  What  would 
Bryce  do?  For  a  moment  she  considered  tell- 
ing Gaston  all,  and  asking  him  to  send  Craig 
away.  But  she  stifled  that  thought  before  it 
was  born.  Where  the  success  of  the  play  was 
concerned,  Gaston  was  deaf  as  Zeus  to  prayer. 
Just  then,  Bryce  came  in.  She  nodded  to 

him  gravely.     Gaston  flashed  quick  eyes  from 

402 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

one  to  the  other,  and,  drawing  his  own  conclu- 
sions, shook  his  rough-maned  head  impatiently. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Gaston  —  when  did 
you  get  down  ?  ': 

"  Now,  young  man,  it  is  nothing  to  you  what 
time  I  got  down,"  said  Gaston,  "  but  it  is  every- 
thing to  all  of  us  that  you  and  your  wife  kiss 
and  make  up.  Yes,  I  Ve  heard  a  lot  of  stuff, 
and  I  don't  want  particulars;  all  I  know  is 
that  I  have  an  emotional,  temperamental  lead- 
ing woman,  who  has  to  be  cared  for,  and  I 
would  n't  keep  her  if  she  were  otherwise.  I  'm 
planning  for  the  success  of  the  play  —  and, 
by  the  way,  sir,  it  happens  to  be  your  play." 

Quickly,  and  yet  with  a  certain  pitying  ten- 
derness, Gaston  took  a  hand  of  each  and  closed 
them  together. 

"  There,"  he  said.  "  Life  's  short  enough  as 
it  is ;  understand  each  other  and  forgive.  Now 
take  her  off  to  her  dressing-room  and  —  think 
it  over." 

The  color  surged  up  over  Jane's  pale  face, 
403 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

and  she  cast  at  Bryce  a  glance  that  said,  "  Let 
things  seem  right."  Gaston  nodded  approv- 
ingly, misreading  it;  and  Bryce,  biting  off  the 
sentence  rising  to  his  lips,  led  Jane  away. 

"  I  've  been  thinking  this  over,  Jane,"  he 
began  directly  when  the  door  of  her  dressing- 
room  had  closed  upon  them,  "  and  I  can't 
allow  you  to  make  any  such  sacrifice  for  me 
as  leaving  the  stage  would  be.  ...  No; 
listen."  He  checked  her  attempt  at  interrup- 
tion. "  I  Ve  quite  made  up  my  mind.  It  was 
made  up  yesterday,  though  you  were  so  worn 
out  that  I  didn't  want  to  disturb  you  about 
it  then.  No,  Jane;  the  theater  is  your  work 
and  your  life.  You  may  think  you  'd  be  con- 
tent in  a  home,  but  you  never  would.  You  're 
not  made  that  way." 

She  made  a  passionate  gesture  of  casting 
it  all  from  her. 

"  I  don't  want  it  any  more.  It 's  ashes  and 
dust  —  Dead  Sea  apples.  I  Ve  added  the  curse 

of  Adam  to  the  curse  of  Eve,  and  thought  I  'd 

404 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

made  myself  free.  I  want  to  be  a  plain  woman, 
with  only  my  husband  for  an  audience.  I  want 
to  start  new." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  know  you  better  than  you  know  yourself, 
Jane.  We  '11  drop  it ;  the  thing 's  quite  settled. 
I  '11  see  you  between  acts." 

Gently  he  bent  and  kissed  her  on  the  fore- 
head. She  clung  to  him,  but  after  a  moment 
he  disengaged  her  arms. 

Outside  the  door  he  paused,  his  hand  still 
on  the  knob,  and  sighed.  He  too  had  had  his 
dreams  of  a  home. 

Jane's  thoughts  followed  him.  So  he  could 
not  trust  her  to  do  it.  She  was  to  be  kindly 
silenced  like  a  child  that  has  offered  to  get  the 
moon  for  a  wiser  elder.  This  was  Craig's 
doing.  Craig!  She  ground  her  teeth  in  a 
sudden  unreasoning  frenzy  of  rage.  He  had 
come  like  a  slimy  snail,  spoiling  everything  he 
touched.  Oh,  he  had  been  careful  to  cover 
himself  —  probably  he  was  afraid  of  what 

405 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

Bryce  would  do  when  he  found  it  out.  Craig 
was  a  chemist  of  emotions,  who  was  careful 
to  keep  his  own  fingers  out  of  any  acids.  It 
made  no  difference  to  him  how  they  scorched 
into  her  soul.  He  had  played  with  her,  had 
an  hour's  amusement  with  her  torture,  like  a 
schoolboy  with  a  beetle  on  a  pin.  Now  he  had 
wrecked  her  life,  and  perhaps  Bryce's  as  well, 
and  for  his  own  selfish  pleasure.  Bryce  was 
incomprehensible  in  his  attitude;  she  had 
thought  she  knew  him,  but  all  her  efforts  at 
reconciliation  met  with  a  blank  politeness  as 
unscalable  as  a  granite  wall.  Gentle  enough, 
to  be  sure;  but  what  lay  behind  that  gentle- 
ness? Jane  stared  at  herself  in  her  mirror. 
"  You  were  a  little  fool,"  she  told  herself  bit- 
terly ;  "  but  Craig  led  you  on.  He  knew  what 
he  was  doing.  He  knew  how  to  use  his  fas- 
cinations when  you  were  a  stranger  in  his 
mimic  world.  He  never  loved  you  at  all.  And 
Bryce  —  " 

Jane  put  her  head  down  on  the  dressing- 
406 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

table.  She  knew  better  than  to  believe  that 
Bryce  wanted  her  to  remain  on  the  stage.  It 
was  like  him  to  refrain  from  refusing  her 
offer  yesterday  when  she  was  unstrung.  "  I  'd 
probably  have  cried  into  the  soup,"  she  re- 
flected with  a  gleam  of  ironical  humor.  Any- 
way, that  avenue  was  stopped.  She  could  do 
no  more;  Bryce  must  make  the  next  move. 
She  fell  to  wondering  what  Bryce  would  do 
when  Craig  came.  She  was  afraid  of  this 
new  quiet  man  with  the  decision  in  his  man- 
ner, this  man  who  gave  her  orders  that  he 
expected  to  have  obeyed.  As  for  Craig  — 

"  I  hate  him !  "  she  said  to  her  mirror.  "  I 
hate  him  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul." 

But  the  bottom  of  Jane's  soul  was  not  yet 
reached.  When  the  probe  of  life  goes  down 
into  the  shrinking  flesh,  women  of  her  type 
are  prone  to  believe  that  every  additional  quar- 
ter of  an  inch  is  the  last  depth,  and  that  they 
can  suffer  no  more.  At  the  bottom  of  her  soul 

she  still  loved  the  theater  best;    and  she  had 

407 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

been  playing  when  she  offered  Bryce  her  sacri- 
fice, though  she  would  have  denied  it  strenu- 
ously even  to  herself.  There  had  been  one  eye 
approvingly  upon  the  mirror,  an  eye  securely 
screened,  an  eye  that  she  perhaps  even  fancied 
wept.  Had  Bryce  been  less  keen  an  analyst 
of  humanity,  he  might  also  have  been  deceived. 
But  it  was  even  as  he  had  said.  He  knew 
Jane  better  now  than  she  realized,  and  with  a 
shrewd  and  pitying  generosity  had  left  her  the 
pride  of  having  offered  without  the  humili- 
ation of  having  failed.  Further  than  that 
human  nature  could  not  go. 

So  she  sat  in  her  dressing-room  and  was 
wretched.  Once  she  sent  a  note  to  Bryce,  ask- 
ing him  to  come  to  her.  The  messenger  re- 
turned with  the  information  that  Mr.  Gordon 
had  gone  out  without  leaving  word  when  he 
would  return.  At  last  she  realized  that  if  she 
did  not  rest  she  would  not  be  at  her  best  in 
the  play,  and,  relaxing,  she  went  wearily  to 

sleep. 

408 


THE    ROAD   TO    ROME 

The  Carrington  family,  including  Leslie  and 
her  husband,  Walter  Scribner,  occupied  the 
stage  box  that  evening.  Had  they  realized  the 
ordeal  they  put  Jane  to,  they  would  have  taken 
seats  in  the  orchestra  beyond  her  range  of 
vision,  but  their  choice  had  been  actuated  b)' 
their  intense  desire  to  show  her  their  good 
will.  They  had  sent  roses,  as  other  friends 
had  done,  and  on  a  card  enclosed  had  written 
her  to  come  back  to  them.  They  had  looked 
forward  to  the  moment  when  their  eyes  should 
meet  across  the  footlights,  but  when  the  mo- 
ment came,  it  was  one  of  the  terrible  incidents 
of  life.  Mutual  shame,  mortification  and  con- 
trition bound  their  eyelids;  there  was  a  silent 
mutual  forgiveness,  but  no  direct  glance. 

In  answer  to  the  applause  with  which  the 
city  greeted  her,  Jane  ran  her  eyes  across  the 
house  to  the  opposite  box,  where  Mrs.  Van 
Mueller  was  nodding  to  her,  then  back  to  the 
gallery  and  down.  She  had  not  dared  to  ask 
about  Craig.  Had  he  come?  She  could  not 

409 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

see  him.  She  hoped  he  had  stayed  away;  it 
was  the  decent  thing  for  him  to  do,  she  told 
herself.  He  had  wronged  her  enough.  Then 
she  lost  herself  in  the  lines. 

Gaston  met  her  in  the  wings  as  she  came  off. 

"  It 's  going  splendidly,"  he  said  eagerly.  :c  I 
never  saw  you  play  so  well.  You  've  been 
learning  life  since  you  were  in  New  York." 

"  Where  's  Craig?  "  She  had  not  meant  to 
ask  it. 

"  I  have  n't  seen  him  —  he  was  to  arrive  on 
the  Flyer." 

"The  Flyer,  Mr.  Gaston?"  asked  an  elec- 
trician standing  near.  '  Why,  the  paper  said 
the  Flyer  was  wrecked  just  out  of  Cleveland. 
Was  Mr.  Craig  on  that?" 

"  Wrecked  ?• "  Jane  snapped  the  word  at  him 
like  a  lash. 

"  I  got  an  extra  here,"  and  he  pulled  a  news- 
paper from  the  stool  where  he  had  been  sitting. 
"  I  did  n't  read  the  particulars." 

Gaston  snatched  at  it.  His  eyes  sped  down 
410 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

the  columns  with  the  black  lists  of  the  dead; 
then  the  paper  fell  from  his  hand.  Jane  stooped 
for  it. 

"  Don't  look !  You  have  to  play  —  don't 
look!" 

"He  is  hurt?" 

"  Yes." 

Jane's  eyes  darkened.  "  Tell  me  he  is  n't 
dead !  —  tell  me  he  is  n't  dead !  —  tell  me  — 
Gaston !  "  She  shook  him  by  the  shoulders. 
"  Gaston,  look  into  my  eyes  and  tell  me  he 
isn't  dead!  You  hesitate  —  you  can't?  It's 
true,  then !  It 's  true !  " 

White  to  the  lips  Jane  faced  him,  and  slowly 
he  bent  his  head  in  assent.  But  it  was  not  at 
him  she  was  looking.  Her  eyes  were  wide 
and  far  away,  gazing  upon  the  vision  of  Craig 
dead,  with  the  blood  matting  his  dark  hair,  the 
lips  she  had  kissed  in  that  vanished  passion 
turned  impotently  up  to  the  sky.  He  had  paid 
the  price  for  her  weakness,  her  faithlessness 

to  herself;  had  gone  up  to  whatever  bar  there 

411 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

might  be  above  to  answer  alone  for  their  sin. 
She  was  still  living  —  she  who  had  been  equally 
guilty,  she  who  had  been  bitterly  reproaching 
him  only  a  moment  ago.  The  blood  rose  in 
a  scarlet  tide  of  shame  to  her  cheeks,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  looked  squarely 
into  her  own  soul  and  saw  its  pitiful  futility. 
Truly,  the  fever  of  the  theater  had  eaten  into 
her,  she  thought,  and  to  it  she  had  sacrificed 
all.  Swiftly  they  flashed  before  her,  the  faces 
of  her  mother  and  father,  whom  she  had  hurt 
so  cruelly,  the  brief  voice  of  Bryce,  as  he  had 
told  her  she  must  remain  on  the  stage,  the  dead 
face  of  Craig,  and  lastly,  her  own  comfortable, 
well-fed  self,  that  had  gone  placidly  on  and  used 
them  all  as  experience  material,  had  climbed 
up  on  their  prostrate  bodies.  She  looked  at 
herself  longest  and  took  no  comfort  in  the  view. 
She  had  held  herself  good,  and  looked  pityingly 
down  upon  the  poor  souls  that  had  gone  astray ; 
she  had  even  magnanimously  forgiven  them 

when  they  had  touched  the  hem  of  her  dress. 

412 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

She  had  blamed  her  own  weakness  on  Craig, 
had  pharisaically  held  back  her  skirts  and 
was  glad  that  she  was  not  even  as  he  was. 
She!  It  was  her  own  guilt,  her  own  shame. 
What  was  she  to  dare  to  forgive,  to  pity? 
What  was  she  that  Bryce  should  love  her,  now 
that  at  last  she  realized  his  worth,  now  that 
at  last  she  knew  her  own? 

Gaston  watched  her  sharply,  wondering  if 
she  were  going  to  faint.  But  presently  he  saw 
that  she  had  no  intention  of  fainting,  and 
waited  silently.  It  was  not  the  first  time  he 
had  seen  a  soul  in  the  crucible,  and  beheld 
it  emerge  with  the  dross  refined  away,  or 
crumble  and  melt  into  nothing. 

Suddenly  the  faintly  heard  orchestra  ceased, 
and  by  one  of  those  curious  coincidences  of 
silence  every  other  sound  for  a  brief  moment 
hushed  into  a  stillness  wherein  a  single  moth 
fluttering  about  the  electric  light  could  plainly 
be  heard  beating  its  wings.  Jane  woke  from 
a  reverie  that  had  lasted  perhaps  three  minutes, 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

but  in  which  she  had  traveled  a  cycle  of  human 
years,  after  which  she  would  never  be  the  same 
again,  and  became  conscious  of  Gaston's  kindly 
sympathetic  eyes.  For  a  moment  they  stared 
at  each  other,  and  then  Jane  broke  into  a 
brusque  little  laugh  that  was  on  the  border-line 
of  tears. 

"  I  've  just  discovered  that  all  my  life 
I  Ve  been  a  monumentally  selfish  fool,"  she 
said. 

He  nodded  cheerfully. 

"  Good,"  he  said,  with  satisfaction.  "  That 's 
all  you  needed  to  teach  you  how  to  play  Opal. 
Now  go  on  —  the  audience  is  waiting." 

But  for  once  Gaston  failed  to  strike  the 
right  note,  and  Jane  blazed  up  with  the  sud- 
denness of  a  red  danger-flare. 

"  Opal !  "  she  cried  hotly.  "  I  've  discov- 
ered myself  —  not  anything  about  Opal. .  I  've 
learned  what  a  colossal,  blundering  fool  I  've 
been  to  play  Opal  at  all,  to  sacrifice  to  the 

Moloch  of  the  theater  all  my  life.     I  '11  sacri- 

414 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

fice  no  more.  I  Ve  ruined  my  life  and  Bryce's, 
and  now  I  'm  going  to  pick  up  the  pieces  if 
I  can.  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  to  play  Opal; 
I  want  Bryce ;  I  want  my  husband  —  if  I 
have  n't  lost  him  forever.  I  want  to  make  up 
to  him  for  what  I  have  not  been  to  him;  I 
want  to  be  a  plain,  ordinary,  natural  woman; 
and  neither  Opal  nor  anything  else  is  going 
to  stand  in  my  way." 

Without  giving  the  astonished  Gaston  time 
to  reply,  Jane  turned  towards  the  wings  and 
went  swiftly  on  in  answer  to  her  cue. 

Watching  her  walk  through  the  forest  of 
pasteboard  trees,  he  was  suddenly  startled  by 
her  laugh,  —  a  clear,  joyous  laugh.  There  was 
something  intoxicating  in  her  mirth,  something 
reckless  in  her  abandonment  to  all  the  fine 
shades  of  comedy,  something  so  childish  in  her 
manner,  so  exhilarating  in  her  humor,  so  sym- 
pathetic and  understanding  in  her  pathos,  that 
the  audience  woke  with  a  start,  and,  before 
the  scene  was  over,  were  laughing  and  crying 


UNQUENCHED    FIRE 

indiscriminately,  lifted  irresistibly  out  of 
themselves. 

The  company  responded  electrically,  sud- 
denly dragged  to  the  heights  of  the  drama  by 
the  nervous  tension  and  powerful  personal 
magnetism  of  the  woman  at  their  head.  None 
spoke  to  her  during  the  intermission,  none 
crossed  her  path,  none  uttered  a  word  or  made 
a  motion  that  might  break  the  inspiration  that 
seemed  to  have  taken  an  almost  supernatural 
hold  upon  her. 

Then  as  the  play  turned  from  the  light  ways 
of  comedy,  Jane  plunged  from  pathos  to 
tragedy,  crushing  with  the  weight  of  her 
despair,  sweeping  everything  before  her  in  the 
rush  of  her  emotions,  bending  everything  be- 
fore her  genius,  tossing  the  audience  to  and 
fro  on  the  waves  of  her  passion  until  they  rose 
shouting  from  their  seats  in  a  frenzy  of 
enthusiasm. 

She  came  before  the  curtain  in  answer  to 
their  calls,  panting  and  weak  now  that  the 

416 


THE    ROAD    TO    ROME 

night's  work  was  completed,  smiling  at  their 
homage,  but  bowing  exhaustedly,  as  if  op- 
pressed with  the  weight  of  their  approval,  as 
if  wearied  by  the  storm  of  their  applause. 

The  next  night  an  electric  sign  flashed  the 
name  of  "  Jane  Carrington  "  from  the  portico 
of  the  theater. 

Gaston  had  made  her  a  star. 


A     000125247     7 


